


Pokemon SwSh Imagines: Honey and Hondew Berries

by missusk



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Headcanon, Imagines, M/M, One Shot Collection, Reader-Insert, Sibling Bonding, Siblings, Slice of Life, and in da club, dancing in the kitchen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missusk/pseuds/missusk
Summary: The Champion and the Dragon Gym Leader share a hammock, your Nickit steals Leon's hat, Piers grumbles a 'thanks I guess' when you hand him a bouquet of flowers. All these and more in this collection of Pokemon Sword and Shield imagines, brought to you by you! Requests are taken on tumblr at @honeyandhondewberries.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan, Dande | Leon/Reader, Hop (Pokemon)/Reader, Kibana | Raihan/Reader, Nezu | Piers (Pokemon)/Reader
Comments: 34
Kudos: 223





	1. Index

Hello and welcome! Here's the masterlist of prompts for this one-shot/imagines/drabble/headcanon series. If you'd like to make your own request, you can do so on tumblr at @honeyandhondewberries. I'm no longer accepting requests through Ao3, just to keep my own brain organized. Thanks, and happy reading!

Chapter 1: Index

Chapter 2: **Hugs & Hammocks & Shuckle Conspiracies ** _(LeonxRaihan)_

Chapter 3: **Bleacher Trash** _(LeonxReader)_

Chapter 4: **Impatiens, Daffodils, Daisies** _(PiersxReader, LeonxReader, RaihanxReader)_

Chapter 5: **Sugarloaf** _(PiersxReader)_

Chapter 6: **‘Dance With Me?’** _(HopxReader, LeonxReader, RaihanxReader)_

Chapter 7: **Steam** _(LeonxReader)_ Part 1 of Steam, Part 2 can be found in Chapter 15

Chapter 8: **All Clean** _(RaihanxReader)_

Chapter 9: **Chicken Noodle Soup & Movie Night ** _(LeonxReader, RaihanxReader)_

Chapter 10: **Primarina Bubblegum** _(Marnie, Piers)_

Chapter 11: **Should We Kiss?** _(LeonxReader)_

Chapter 12: **Not a Date** _(HopxReader)_

Chapter 13: **I Love You Like a Wailord** _(LeonxReader)_

Chapter 14: **Rubbish You** _(PiersxReader)_

Chapter 15: **A Few Degrees Hotter** _(LeonxReader)_ Part 2 of Steam, Part 1 can be found in Chapter 7

Chapter 16: **Easy as Pie** _(MiloxReader)_

Chapter 17: **Crack of Thunder** _(LeonxReader)_


	2. Hugs & Hammocks & Shuckle Conspiracies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from Anonymous on tumblr:  
> "hi!! can you do an overworked!raihan x leon cuddling in a hammock?"

**Hugs & Hammocks & Shuckle Conspiracies ** _(LeonxRaihan)_

After a yawn, a stretch, and a discreet butt scratch – er, lower back scratch – Raihan sauntered through the sliding glass doors of Rose Tower. How many yawns were too many to make it unhealthy? Was there even a limit? Maybe he shouldn’t have stayed up all night finishing his training schedule. He probably could have reviewed his and Leon’s match at least, then maybe he could be napping right now instead of meeting with Galar’s darling Champion to watch himself lose on the big screen of the conference room.

“Hey,” Raihan told the secretary. “I’ve got a meeting with Leon.”

“Champion Leon,” she corrected with a smile. “And I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Raihan barely offered her a nod in response and leaned against the counter. He tried to be in Rose Tower as little as possible. It was so sterile, almost an insult to the roses that bloomed beneath the floor. They were probably fake, anyway.

“He’s waiting for you in Wyndon Park, Mr. Raihan,” the secretary said.

“What?” Raihan asked. He tried to cover his sneer, though his exhaustion left little ability for such disguises. “We’re not meeting here?”

“No Mr. Raihan,” the secretary said, still with that plastic smile. “His assistant says you’re to meet him at Wyndon Park.”

“That’s halfway across town,” Raihan muttered. Good thing he came all the way here just to retrace his steps through Wyndon. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Raihan,” the secretary said. “I suggest hailing a cab, so you don’t keep Champion Leon waiting even longer.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Raihan muttered as he turned back towards the doors. “Wouldn’t want to insult him with my tardiness.”

“Thank you for understanding, Mr. Raihan.”

Raihan didn’t respond and tried to keep his steps light as he left through the sliding glass doors. As soon as he was far enough from the building, he let out a groan, then a sigh, and his feet dragged along the white concrete. Taking the monorail again would be double the expense, and apparently that secretary couldn’t be bothered to hail a cab _for_ him. Guess Leon will have to deal with his insulting tardiness, since he wasn’t about to fork out the extra cash for a fancy lift.

Raihan flopped into the monorail seat and bit back a yawn. The city of Wyndon flickered outside the window, though the colors were fuzzy from how fast they were moving, and even more so from how Raihan’s eyes kept closing. He tried playing on his phone, but his eyes kept blurring and the light burned the back of his eyes.

He reached his stop, paid the fair with gritted teeth, and began his trek through downtown. How were they supposed to critique their match if they were in a park? Did they reserve the amphitheater for a showing, or something? Or was this meeting some cover up and Leon wasn’t even going to be there? He decided if Leon wasn’t at the park, he was just going to move onto the next thing in his schedule. He’d rather get an earful from Rose than continue this demeaning goose chase.

He offered a few waves, a few smiles, and a few pictures to fans as he walked through downtown. Hopefully the bags under his eyes weren’t _too_ prominent, or at least disguised from a photo filter or something. After walking long enough for late midday to shift to evening, Raihan finally reached the park. He pulled out his phone and shot a text to Leon.

_Thanks for letting me know about the location change. I’m at the park, where are you?_

A response came immediately.

_Sorry! I told the secretary to tell you, guess she forgot. I’m at the top of the hill between the 2 trees_

Raihan didn’t bother responding and tucked his phone back into his pocket. Top of the hill? Did they set up a screen or something?

The fresh air of the park was nice, but it took so long to get there that Raihan sent a guilty text to Nessa telling her they may need to reschedule their training session. He said that the darling Champion couldn’t be rescheduled with, and she said she understood. A few kids were throwing a frisbee with their Yampers, and Raihan let a smile slip. This place was much nicer than the stagnant air of Rose Tower, at least.

“Raihan, over here!”

Raihan turned to see a hammock hanging between two tall trees at the top of the hill. It had the League insignia plastered on it, and a plume of purple hair hanging from it. 

A… hammock…? How the hell were they supposed to watch a match in a hammock? Was Leon expecting them to canoodle and watch the sunset together instead?

Leon’s face poked up from beneath the side, and immediately Raihan had to swallow that twang of excitement to see him. What a doofus, hiding in a hammock at the top of a hill in the most populated park in Wyndon. How did he manage to not get bombarded by fans?

“Sorry again,” Leon said as Raihan reached the top of the hill. “I thought you knew to meet here.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Raihan sighed. He glanced around. “So, what, you want me to stand the whole time? Sit on the ground? Are we still going to watch our match?”

“Yeah,” Leon said as he patted the spot beside him. “Hop in.”

Hop… in…? To… the hammock…?

“What…?” Raihan asked.

“I thought out here could be nicer than the Tower,” Leon said guiltily. “Not so many other people watching us, either. I’ve got the match pulled up on my phone.”

“I've… I’ve never sat in a hammock before,” Raihan said as he scanned the equipment. “How do I…?”

“Just slide in,” Leon said with that doofy smile. “Easy.”

“Easy…” Raihan repeated. “Right.” 

He turned, backed up a few inches, then haphazardly flopped into the hammock. Its dip was more than he was expecting, and Raihan tumbled straight into Leon’s lap. He lifted himself up, only to slide back where he started.

“Shit, is this supposed to happen?” Raihan grumbled as he tried to scooch off of the Champion’s firm thighs. His cheeks were flaring red as red a Charizard’s tail - probably just as hot, too. He pulled his hoodie collar up higher to hide it.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Leon said. “Okay so I already skipped the introduction and whatever and got to the part where you bring out Flygon.”

Leon continued explaining his perception of their battle, but Raihan’s focus was latched to the fact that he was still mushed up against Leon’s side. He wasn’t sure what would be worse: sitting with one leg over Leon’s, or risking moving again and ending up on top of him. Was he moving too much? Would Leon notice? He was still babbling about Flygon and Dragapult, apparently not fixated on how Raihan had no idea how to sit in this rubbish piece of fabric.

“Arceus how are you supposed to sit in this,” Raihan muttered as he tried to scooch away again. “I keep sliding on top of you.”

“That’s okay,” Leon said again. “That happens sometimes. Just sit like this.”

Leon pushed Raihan down by his shoulder, slid his leg beneath and between Raihan’s, and pulled Raihan’s head so he was resting on his chest. Leon hooked his arm behind Raihan’s head, rested his head on his fist, and held his phone out with the other.

“Can you still see the screen?” Leon asked.

Raihan blinked a few times.

“Um,” he muttered as he processed their arrangement. “Yeah I can see it.”

“Great,” Leon continued. “Okay anyway, so when you beat Dragapult I was kind of surprised you didn’t switch up the weather again, you haven’t been doing that as much lately and I think that would be a good theatrical element like Rose was talking about, the fans really like it when you do that, makes the battlefield more dynamic, too.”

After Leon babbled for a bit longer, and after Raihan slowly eased into leaning against Leon’s chest, Raihan offered some insight to their battle as well. Before long they were offering suggestions, offering scathing rebuttals, and plenty of teases, too. The first time Leon laughed and Raihan felt it rumbling in his chest, he may have tried a few more times to get that feeling again.

They watched their battle a few times, then other Gym Leader’s battles a few times, then some suggested videos on the sidebar, until they were eventually watching conspiracy theories on what’s _really_ inside a Shuckle.

“It’s berry juice!” Leon snorted. “People drink it!”

“Wrong,” Raihan said. “You’re wrong. It’s gotta be like, a black hole or a lot of spit or something. Maybe even reproductive juices-“

“Ugh, ew, stop,” Leon grunted, though that shiny smile was easily plastered on his face. Raihan couldn’t see it because of how they were sitting, but he certainly felt it bump against his head whenever Leon shifted their position.

Leon started telling a story about how him and Hop found a Shuckle once, and Raihan bit back his own smile at the enthusiasm that was rumbling through Leon. He was gesturing with his hands, even his foot, and little pangs of something warm started pulling in Raihan’s stomach. Leon was such a doofus.

Although their conversation skills were evenly matched, Raihan found himself pausing longer and longer between sentences in favor of listening to Leon’s voice. The sun was beginning to set, and the bold oranges and pinks shone over Wyndon, speckling color over the bustling city. He had to admit, he also enjoyed this spot a bit more than Rose Tower.

Raihan’s eyes closed longer each time he blinked, too, until they fluttered open when Leon gently nudged his shoulder.

“You okay?” Leon asked, and Raihan jolted into focus.

“Hm? What?” Raihan mumbled. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’re overworking yourself, Rai,” Leon whispered gently. “You should take a little nap.”

“What?” Raihan mumbled in return, though it was getting challenging to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t stop the yawn from escaping, either. “Maybe, I guess. We should watch our match one more time though, then I have to train with Nessa, then I’ve got to work with the new Trainers at the Gym, then I’ve… I’ve…”

His sentence slipped into a mumble, then into another yawn. The soothing rocking of the hammock was slowly luring him into sleep. He tried to sit up, but didn’t try very hard to resist when Leon pulled him back down.

“How about you just close your eyes for a couple seconds,” Leon whispered. His voice was a soothing rumble against Raihan’s ear. “Then you can get up and do your stuff.”

“Well, maybe a few seconds wouldn’t hurt,” Raihan mumbled in return. He folded his arms and slumped backwards again, though the side of the hammock was doing a good job of adding to that crick in his neck. “Just for a bit.”

“That position looks like it hurts,” Leon said softly. “You should lay down.”

Raihan grumbled again, though didn’t stop Leon when he gently hooked his arm around his waist and pulled. Raihan easily collapsed into Leon’s chest, and again didn’t resist when he adjusted them lower and lower.

“Stretch out a bit,” Leon suggested, and Raihan sleepily obeyed. “See, not so bad, huh?”

“Hmm,” Raihan hummed as he easily faded in and out. Was this Leon’s chest or two perky pillows? “Just for a few seconds.”

“That’s a good idea,” Leon chuckled as he wriggled his leg out from under Raihan. He set it on the grass to gently rock them back and forth. “Just a little bit. It feels really nice out here, doesn’t it?”

“Mmhmm,” Raihan hummed again as the soft breeze combed through his hair, lightly scratched the top of his head. “Yeah that feels really nice.”

Gentle head scratches, a brush over his cheek, the white noise of the breeze and the birds chirping, the faint beat of Leon’s heart, the soothing rocking of the hammock; each was an ingredient that slowly lured Raihan further into an easy sleep. As he slipped in and out of consciousness, Raihan was glad they didn’t have this meeting in Rose Tower either.


	3. Bleacher Trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request from Anyonymous on tumblr:  
> "Okay!! So this is an idea I had already asked of another but I would very much appreciate to see your own take on the idea!! After a match Leon is just getting ready to head out when a Nickit shows up and swipes his hat. The pokemon runs off with it and Leon will follow where he eventually runs into gn!reader who is one of the staff working at the stadium! Reader’s job is typically to clean up any stands and find lost items to put into lost and found, and their Nickit helps!"

**Bleacher Trash** _(LeonxReader)_

Leon is an easygoing guy, that much is obvious, but there is one thing he can’t stand: people swiping his hat.

Most of the time it’s girls trying to flirt, or kids that are starstruck, so he normally lets it slide, but that doesn’t mean there’s never a pang of frustration whenever it happens. The purpose of having a hat is for it to be on his head, and not in the hands of a giggling fan. If he wanted to showcase his sweaty scalp and eternal bedhead, he would have by now. And, after intense training days like today, the thing probably smells rancid anyway, so it’s really best for everyone that it stays put.

Leon returns Charizard to his Poke Ball, offers a ‘good luck next time’ to a Pokemon League staff that begged to battle him after hours, and cracks his back through a satisfying stretch. He really needs to stop adhering to these requests… He could be in bed with a cup of tea by now. Oh well, that League staff member had some interesting tactics that Leon tucked away for later, and he knows a bit more about his staff that works in Wyndon Stadium, which is always nice.

He saunters to his bag that he tossed onto the stands and kneels to rustle through the contents. Should he stock up on more full restores before he heads home? Or did he have some at home anyway? Maybe he could stop at the Pokemon Center on the way o-

Is it drafty in here?

The circumference of his head where his hat normally sat is suddenly a little chilly. Leon pats his head, only to pat dried sweat and the purple hair plastered to his forehead.

He whips his head up at the sound of claws scratching against steel only to see a flash of red disappear under the bleachers.

“Hey, wait a second!” Leon yelps as he scrambles to stand.

He follows the quiet _tink tink tink_ of claws as best he can, though the _clunk clunk clunk_ of his shoes on the bleachers drown out the sound pretty well. He reaches the end of the bleacher section, and that flash of red darts into the dark.

Leon nimbly swings around and behind the bleachers, following that flash of red through the occasional sliver of light that speckles through. He crouches as best he can as to not smack his head on the steel beams above him, and he grimaces at the trash that litters the grimy ground. He has never been under the bleachers of Wyndon Stadium, and he hopes he never will again.

“Where’d you go…” he mutters. The lines of light from the spaces between the bleachers create a trail to follow, until Leon’s eyes finally meet that flash of red again.

A Nickit? What is a Nickit doing here?

The Nickit’s tail is gleefully flicking back and forth, and when Leon glances to see what it is so happy about, he flinches back in shock.

A person? What is a person doing here?

He quickly puts two and two together when he notices the broom in one hand and a bag in the other – how late did staff work in Wyndon Stadium? He really needs to know more about the people that work for him.

Leon wishes he could stand straight and properly introduce himself to you, but he has to settle for crouching uncomfortably with his bangs plastered against his forehead. He motions to take a step closer, only to pause when you let out a quiet hum.

“Squeaky-clean,” you mumble in a singsong. “Getting these bleachers _squeak_ -y clean.”

Leon’s mouth opens in surprise, then quickly shifts to a sly grin. Your lyrics aren’t exactly Piers-level, but Leon is sure it helps pass the time.

“Gonna pick up the trash from the trash people that leave trash,” you hum again. “Gotta make my money so I don’t have to eat trash.”

Leon unsuccessfully holds back his chuckle, and you freeze. His cover is blown, so he steps closer to you to introduce himself as properly as he can given the circumstances. He grins again when the lines of light from between the bleachers highlight your wide (and what’s that other expression? Terrified?) eyes meet his. He’s used to this though, and it’s probably not great that you’re alone under some dark bleachers, so he tries to open his posture to exude friendliness. His sweaty head probably humanizes him too, so now he’s not so frustrated at the thieving Nickit.

“Hi,” Leon says. “Hope I didn’t startle you.”

You open your mouth, close it, open it again, then cough when a bug flies in.

“Muh-m-muh,” you stutter. Leon raises an eyebrow, but that doesn’t help your suddenly sparse vocabulary. “M-Mr. Leon! Mr. Champion Leon, sir, h-how long have you been standing there?!”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Leon chuckles. “Please, continue your song. What happens to the trash people that leave trash?”

You can’t stop your mouth. You can’t stop it from telling the Champion the rest of your terrible lyrics.

“They…” you mumble. “They turn into Garbodors.”

“Interesting,” Leon laughs. “Then what?”

“I… I haven’t gotten to that part yet,” you confess as a blush stains your cheeks. “Normally I just sing those parts over and over.”

“Well, sorry I interrupted,” Leon says. “But I think your Nickit has something of mine.”

You glance to your Nickit, who stands triumphantly holding its prize in its teeth. You gasp and offer a sheepish grin to Leon.

“Sorry,” you say. “I normally have my Nickit help speed up the process. I… I thought this was just some merchandise…”

“It’s the real deal,” Leon chuckles. “Clever to have a Pokemon help you. You work here?”

“Yes,” you mumble. You wonder if you’ll still have a job after your Pokemon stole the Champion’s hat. “Though I’ll probably get fired after this.”

Leon’s laugh resounds against the steel of the bleachers, and your tense shoulders ease.

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” Leon says through a smile. You’ve never been this close to the Champion before, and that smile is just as dazzling up close. “And you know what? I’ve got a ton of other hats anyway.”

“Huh?” you ask stupidly.

“Keep it,” he says with a wink, and you nearly topple over. His charisma is overwhelming, blasting against you like some typhoon of charm. You need to think of something alluring, and fast.

“Oh, no,” you splutter out alluringly. “I couldn’t, it smells really bad.”

Leon’s jaw drops, as does yours, when your words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. Well, guess it’s time you find another job. Or another country to live in.

His laugh resounds through the bleachers again, and the slivers of light dance to the sound.

“You’re funny. I can’t deny that it’s pretty disgusting after a battle,” he says. He plucks the hat from your hands when you guiltily offer it to him, and he sets it back securely on his head. “What’s your name?”

Is he going to turn you in? Throw you at the feet of your supervisor? Maybe you should give him a fake name. Instead, you tell him your actual name, since you can’t seem to lie to those golden eyes.

“Well,” Leon says. “This has been an eventful evening for the both of us. How late do you work?”

Is he going to wait for you? Wait for you to pull on your coat just to throw you in the dumpster after stealing his things and insulting him? You accept your fate and tell him your shift ends soon.

“I’ll help you then,” he says kindly. “I can even help you make up some new lyrics.”

“Okay,” you say as alluringly as possible, though really it just comes out monotone and robotic. You squeak at the end when Nickit flicks its tail against you. That makes Leon smile though, so maybe your influx of awkward is alluring in itself?

Leon continues to talk with you, tries to make you laugh, and does so successfully when he smacks the bill of his hat against the bleachers a few times. You show him a few tricks you’ve picked up to not constantly smash your head against things, and he offers a few new song lyrics in return.

Leon wonders why he’s never seen you before. Perhaps training late wasn’t so bad, and perhaps getting his hat stolen wasn’t so bad either. The next day, he accidentally leaves his hat on the bleachers, and accidentally leaves a few treats underneath it as well.


	4. Impatiens, Daffodils, Daisies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request from Anonymous on tumblr:  
> "can you write about Leon, Raihan, and/or Piers getting flowers from their crush?"

**Impatiens, Daffodils, Daisies** _(PiersxReader, LeonxReader, RaihanxReader)_

##  **Piers:**

  * Hears a knock on the door, groans loud enough for whoever is on the other side to know they are Not Welcome
  * Opens door ‘What do you-‘
  * Oh
  * Shit
  * He really wished he wasn’t so pale, because then it wouldn’t be so easy to see the pink in his face
  * Scratch that, flaring red
  * Because there you are, with your disgustingly sweet smile and a… bouquet?
  * ‘I was in the market,’ you say with that stupid shiny smile. ‘And I bought these because they reminded me of you!’
  * Flowers? Him? That’s a first.
  * ‘They’re just gonna die,’ Piers mumbles. Hopefully him constantly pushing you away will give you the hint that he definitely wants you to stay
  * ‘They’ll live for a little bit if you take care of them,’ you say, frustratingly unperturbed by his grumbling. “These ones do well in the shade – they’re hydrangeas and impatiens.’
  * You giggle. You _giggle_. Your stupid giggle is a melody in his ears. How do you so perfectly harmonize with everything in the air with that stupid giggle?
  * 'Impatiens,’ Piers repeats. ‘Ha ha, very funny.’
  * ‘I thought so,’ you say, offering your most charming – and most smug – smile
  * Piers turns before his face gets even more red.
  * (he doesn’t turn quickly enough)
  * ‘Well um…’ Piers mumbles. ‘Thanks, I guess. Marnie will like ‘em.’
  * ‘Oh,’ you say again. ‘I got some for her too.’
  * How do you do this? How do you care about him and the things he cares about? His face is as pink as these flowers.
  * The flowers for Marnie are apparently called ‘Bletilla.’ Piers would never remember those names if it wasn’t you that was telling him
  * ‘Thanks’ he mumbles again, looking certainly out of place holding two colorful bouquets in his arms.
  * You’re turning, waving goodbye, still with that shiny smile
  * Piers fumbles. For someone who’s so often in front of crowds, being in front of just you always makes him stutter
  * ‘D-Do you,’ Piers mumbles, ‘I’ve just put some tea on…’
  * You seem to understand, just as you always do, what he’s trying to say
  * When you nod, he lets slip a smile, and you do too.
  * Piers quickly forces down the corners of his mouth, but when he guides you into his house, they seem to perk right back up again.



##  **Leon:**

  * Flowers on his doorstep isn’t an uncommon occurrence
  * Sometimes they’re from his mum though, so he always makes sure to check the tag
  * These ones are pretty… Daffodils and carnations – his favorite flowers. How did they know?
  * The only person who’s ever asked about his favorite flower is…
  * Leon’s alone in his house, but even then he tries to hide his smile when he reads the tag
  * It’s from you.
  * Of course it’s from you.
  * His hidden smile slips into a big one – huge and shiny and a little doofy, he’s embarrassed at how easily you affect him, even when you’re not around
  * You had tried to be so sly when you asked, rocking so simply on the balls of your feet
  * ‘Sooo,’ you had asked, drawing out the word like a piece of stretchy chewing gum. ‘You must get a lot flowers, huh?’
  * Leon already knew where that was going, so he set his chin on his fist and leaned closer, just to see that cute little blush creep into your cheeks.
  * ‘I’m just curious!’ you had spluttered, already outing yourself before you could even ask.
  * ‘It’s true. I think I’m most excited though when I get daffodils and carnations,’ he had hummed, raising an eyebrow at you.
  * You had nodded, eyes flicking to the side as you tucked away that bit of information
  * At the time, all he could think was a steady stream of ‘ _you’re so cute you’re so cute you’re so cute’_
  * That’s all he’s thinking now, too, when he imagines what your silly little grin must have looked like when you sent these
  * He’s got it bad
  * He’s got it so, so bad for you
  * You occupy his mind many minutes of every day, and now that’ll increase ten-fold whenever he looks at these flowers on his counter
  * Maybe he could invite you over, just so you can see how he’s proudly displaying these flowers as openly as he can
  * He pauses when he reaches for his phone
  * A twang of excitement pulls in his stomach
  * As does a bundle of nerves in his chest
  * Even when you’re not around, you do such a good job of making him nervous. _Him._ _Nervous._
  * He types something out, erases it, types something else out, erases it.
  * What will make you smile? What will make you blush and bite back a giddy grin, just like he’s doing now?
  * He gives up and just sends a picture of your flowers sitting on his counter.
  * He wanted to say something clever, something charming and alluring, but all he could think of is
  * ‘got some flowers today :)’
  * That was pretty lame.
  * Hopefully that’s hint enough, though
  * Apparently it is, because Leon swallows a _squeal_ (him, a grown man, _squealing_ alone in his house) when you immediately reply
  * ‘Ooo, those are nice. Bet they’re even more beautiful in person’
  * Leon sends a reply, sets his phone down, and hides his face in his hands.
  * He’s got it so bad.



##  **Raihan**

  * ‘So, does he love you, or does he love you not?’ Raihan teases
  * ‘You don’t even know if it’s a guy,’ you retort after a quick jolt of surprise.
  * Raihan watches in smug amusement as you try to hide the daisy petals you were plucking
  * You’ve never been very discreet, but Raihan loves it
  * ‘But now I know you weren’t just plucking petals,’ he hums
  * His heart thumps when you blush, when you bashfully turn your head and grumble
  * ‘C’mon, who is it,’ Raihan asks, tugging on your sleeve. ‘I won’t tease’
  * Probably.
  * Really it depends on who you were plucking petals for.
  * ‘Rubbish,’ you say.
  * He playfully begs and pleads, but you won’t budge.
  * When you tell him to give up, Raihan wonders if now is the time to tell you
  * He’s been thinking it for a while now (since the second he met you, actually)
  * At first it was just because you’d look great with him on his social media platforms
  * But now he almost wants to keep you for himself
  * That’s why he brought you up to this hill overlooking Hammerlocke, so no one could cut into your time together
  * He’s mulling it over in his mind, how to finally confess, how to make it charming and suave, only to pause when you hold out the daisy stem
  * It’s got one petal left.
  * ‘He loves me,’ you say quietly.
  * Raihan’s gaze flicks between your eyes and the single petal
  * Do you…? Could you?
  * ‘But I guess that depends on if you count the last petal or if you count after the last petal,’ you say quickly when he doesn’t respond.
  * You’re retracting the daisy stem, only to pause when Raihan lightly pulls the stem from your fingers
  * ‘I’d say it counts,’ he says. He wanted to make this charming and whatnot, but he’s feeling a little vulnerable himself.
  * He tucks the daisy stem behind his ear.
  * ‘How do I look?’
  * ‘Good,’ you say. ‘It fits.’
  * ‘I think so too,’ he says.
  * His fingers comb through the grass, the daisy petals
  * His hand finds yours, and you lace your fingers together
  * ‘I’d even say he loves you too.’




	5. Sugarloaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from Anonymous on tumblr:   
> "can we have some more smitten Piers, please?"

**Sugarloaf** _(PiersxReader)_

What the hell was he doing, standing at your doorstep like some pathetic, heart-eyed moron. ****

He’d kill Raihan after this.

 _“C’mon,”_ Raihan had said. _“All you gotta do is walk up, knock on the door, ask for some sugar, and bam! Instant falling-in-love. It’s adorable, trust me, it always works in the movies.”_

 _“You’re an idiot,”_ Piers had replied.

And yet, here he was, doing just that. He didn’t even need sugar. He didn’t even use sugar, hardly ever, and he was pretty sure there was a bag of it hardened in his pantry anyway.

“This is stupid,” Piers muttered to himself, though he didn’t turn around. 

His knees twitched as he fought with himself on if he should forget all this and leave. He opened his fists just to close them, raised his arm to knock just to lower it again. He could go home, drink some coffee, finish that song he was working on. That song about you, but it’s not like you knew that. Maybe seeing you could offer some inspiration, as if he needed any more. You were half of everything he thought about, even enough for Marnie to notice, and, unfortunately, enough for Raihan to notice and give his unsolicited advice.

Then, before he decided, you opened the door. Piers’ heart thumped, skipped, like he was some lovestruck preteen, at the sight of you in your pajama bottoms and bedhead. Your eyes widened, then your nose crinkled just like it always did when you smiled at him. He’d save this image in his mind forever, you so sleepy and sweet, because this moment could be a song in itself.

“Hey Piers,” you said as you leaned against your doorjam, so calm and cool and casual. “Here I was, about to get the mail, and I get a Piers instead. This is a pleasant surprise, what’s up?”

For someone who wrote beautiful words and melodies for a living, you always had the habit of making him forget all of them. So, instead of something poetic, all Piers said was:

“Sugar.”

He could have died right then, that’d be fine. He could crawl underground, jump into the ocean, throw himself off the Route 7 bridge, just so he wouldn’t have to wait for your response as the seconds ticked by. Your brows pulled together.

“Um… honey?” you said in reply.

“No,” Piers said again. Arceus he’d kill Raihan for this. “I-I… Do you have sugar?”

“Yeah, why?” you asked. “Do you need some?”

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

His heart thumped. He didn’t think about that.

“Um,” Piers said. “One.”

You opened your mouth, but Piers cut you off.

“One cup, I mean,” he finished as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m… I’m making somethin’.”

“Oh, what are you making?” you asked, still so calm and collected.

Shit.

“Um,” Piers said again. What would Raihan say in a time like this? Something stupid, probably. “Sugar…loaf.”

Well that was definitely stupid.

Luckily, you didn’t seem to notice, and instead smiled that shiny smile that crinkled the corners of your eyes.

“I’ve never heard of that,” you said, because, well, it didn’t exist. “But sure, let me go get you some.”

You turned, waltzed away so simple in your little pajama bottoms, and Piers’ cheeks tinged pink at the sight of hips and legs and bare feet. He tore his gaze away and crossed his arms again, as if the harder he pressed against his chest, the slower his heart rate would be.

Could he ask you out? When you came back? How did people even do that? Dinner? Movies? Eat some sugarloaf with him? Augh, rubbish idea. 

He didn’t think much longer, because you were back with a baggie of one cup of sugar. You handed it to him, your fingers brushed his, and the contact was like a shock of electricity. Piers yanked the bag from your hands, but you didn’t find his motion strange.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

Again, his knees locked, then unlocked, as he stood at your front door. He could feel his face burning as his eyes unintentionally trailed down your frame again.

“Let me know how it tastes,” you said simply, and you motioned to say goodbye.

“You can make it with me,” Piers blurted before he could stop himself. “If you… if you want, later.”

And there was that smile again - that was the special one you had when you were a little embarrassed, not that Piers noticed the differences in your smiles. He hadn’t written a song about that, either.

“Sure, let me get changed first,” you said. “I’ll meet you at your house, maybe in an hour?”

“Yeah,” Piers said. “Yeah sounds good.”

Then you finally waved goodbye, closed your door, and again, Piers could have died right there.

As he slumped down your front steps, he smacked his forehead, and pulled out his phone to figure out what the hell sugarloaf could even be. A text from Raihan was waiting for him.

_Get any sugar today? ;)_

Piers didn’t take long to reply.

_I hate you._


	6. 'Dance With Me?'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from lilredcamaro14 on tumblr:  
> "Hello there I would like to say your work is amazing in AO3. Can you write about Hop, Leon and or Raihan asking their crush to dance with them?"

**‘Dance With Me?’** _(HopxReader, LeonxReader, RaihanxReader)_

## Hop

  * ‘Go on, Hop, ask for a dance,’ Leon prods.
  * ‘Cut it _out_ Lee,’ Hop grumbles in return as he swats Leon’s hand away. ‘You’re being too loud!’
  * You’re chatting with your friends at the Gym Challenge Gala. Everyone who’s participated is welcome, but mostly it’s those who’ve made it past the fourth gym. 
  * The older challengers have a social event later in the night, but Leon came to this one early just to support his little brother.
  * (Support his little brother in _finally_ making a move on you)
  * Bellonlea is hosting this year, so strings of fairy lights hang from the branches of the tall, dark trees. They make your eyes glitter, and that was the first thing Hop liked about the gala.
  * You’re on punch-refill duty, but really you can only carry so many of your friend’s cups.
  * ‘Now’s your chance,’ Leon whispers, and he gives Hop’s shoulder a shove. ‘Remember the steps I told you. You’ve got this.’
  * ‘Yeah, I’ve got this,’ Hop repeats, and he confidently marches to the punch bowl, only to swallow back a bundle of nerves when he meets you there.
  * ‘Hi Hop,’ you say as he approaches.
  * ‘Hi,’ he coughs. ‘You… you look nice.’
  * Step 1: Compliment. Complete.
  * ‘Thanks,’ you say with a smile.
  * Your smile is so nice. He makes jokes just to make you smile. Even when you battle, he tries to make you smile.
  * Hop smiles too. Onto Step 2.
  * What was Step 2.
  * He can’t remember Step 2.
  * ‘Are you… enjoying yourself?’ you ask awkwardly. Hop’s stare is a little unsettling.
  * Step 2 Step 2 Step 2. Uhhh.
  * ‘Huh? Oh, uh, yeah,’ Hop splutters. ‘Yeah. You?’
  * ‘Yeah.’
  * You wait for a response from Hop. It doesn’t come.
  * Dance.
  * Dance!
  * Step 2 is dance.
  * ‘You wanna dance?’ Hop asks suddenly.
  * ‘I’ve… I’ve got this punch,’ you reply.
  * He plucks the cups from your hands and sets them on the table. Problem solved.
  * ‘I guess that works,’ you chuckle.
  * When you smile, Hop smiles too.



## Leon

  * You had been working so hard lately, so Leon wanted to treat you to something nice.
  * He just wanted to be a good friend!
  * It’s normal for friends to have a candlelit dinner, right?
  * And watch a movie on the couch after, right?
  * …and casually yawn, rest his arm on the back of the couch,
  * …….then around your shoulders?
  * Normal.
  * He just wanted to help you relax! You’ve been so tense lately, working hard and doing your best.
  * (he’s proud of you, and he tells you that every day)(now that your ~~relationship~~ friendship is at the point of talking every day)
  * He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, especially when your eyes were drooping even through your dinner.
  * (the dark lighting probably didn’t help, but it did make you even more stunning)
  * (apparently Leon _could_ be more attracted to you)(he thought he reached the limit)
  * (he didn’t)
  * Movie started, bam, you, fast asleep, right on his chest.
  * (he hoped his pounding heart didn’t wake you)
  * You didn’t wake until the next morning, with a pillow under your head and a blanket around your shoulders.
  * You stumble into the kitchen with a yawn to see breakfast being made and soft music in the background.
  * There’s Leon, t-shirt and sweats, messy bun and sleepy eyes.
  * ‘Morning,’ he says simply.
  * ‘Hi,’ you say as you rub your eyes. ‘Did I sleep all through the night?’ He nods.
  * The music is nice; it’s soft and simple, a perfect addition to the foggy dawn.
  * You lean on the counter and listen.
  * ‘Hey, I think they played this at my prom,’ you say with a light chuckle.
  * ‘Yeah?’ Leon asks. ‘I never had a prom.’
  * ‘Shame,’ you chuckle. ‘You really missed out on a whole lot of awkward.’
  * ‘You? Awkward? Impossible,’ Leon teases, because you both know that is very much possible.
  * You chuckle again, then there’s silence between you. He catches how you watch him.
  * You turn with a blush, suddenly realizing the intimacy of morning.
  * ‘Did you dance with any tall handsome men?’ Leon asks. You’re not sure if he’s teasing, so you only roll your eyes.
  * Soft sounds still play from the radio, and Leon catches your eyes again.
  * ‘Do you want to?’ he asks quietly. ‘Dance, I mean?’
  * ‘…Now?’ you ask. ‘In… your kitchen?’ Leon shrugs, and you suppose that you could offer him a little taste of prom, though really this is nothing like prom.
  * ‘Is… is that weird?’ Leon asks. You shrug too.
  * You step towards him, and he to you, and you both let out an awkward, breathy laugh. You’re just friends, so this is fine. Normal, even.
  * It’s normal how he curves his hand around your side, gently lifts your hand in his.
  * It’s normal how you set your head on his chest, how you both gently sway to the melody of the radio.
  * It’s normal how you unintentionally let out a hum, how you almost doze in and out.
  * Yeah, this is nothing like prom, but that’s alright with you.



## Raihan

  * Pounding music, neon lights, hungry eyes.
  * Curious hands wet from the condensation on his glass.
  * He’s been watching you all night.
  * Whenever you meet his eyes, it makes something swirl in his stomach, something good, something dangerous.
  * Raihan doesn’t often need liquid courage, but when it’s you, it certainly helps
  * Another shot mixes with the tension building in his gut when he watches you.
  * He’s never seen you like this before. 
  * Legs, thighs, hips, waist, chest, shoulders, face.
  * Everything.
  * With the neon lights, the way you move is like magic, nothing like he’s ever seen.
  * And he’s seen a lot.
  * (He doesn’t frequent this club often, but now he plans to.)
  * You leave the dance floor, swaying and sweaty, glistening pink, then blue, then green, as the lights flash.
  * You’re at your table, off the dance floor, sipping your drink and checking your phone.
  * The blue light highlights how you bite your lip, and Raihan’s breath catches.
  * He can’t wait anymore.
  * He finally leaves the bar, leaves his friends, but they aren’t surprised, because he’s been watching you all night.
  * Maybe its the alcohol, or maybe its just you, but he wants to be as close as he can. He sets his elbow on the table, leans towards you.
  * ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Didn’t know you liked dancing.’
  * ‘Now you do,’ you say simply. You match his gaze, you mirror how he drinks in every bit of your body.
  * ‘You learn something new every day,’ he says. He leans closer, his eyes drag to your lips. ‘Glad today I got to learn this.’
  * ‘Clever,’ you say. You know he’s been watching you. Every time you’ve looked up you’ve seen those sharp blue eyes. Here, now, before, everywhere else. You know he likes looking at you, but this is the first time he’s been so forward.
  * ‘I like dancing too,’ Raihan says, though it’s practically a purr.
  * ‘What a coincidence,’ you hum, and you stare down those hungry eyes.
  * ‘So,’ Raihan says. He’s not even trying to be discreet as his eyes drink in every bit of you yet again. You’re hot enough to burn the throat, just like the that alcohol burns in his veins.
  * ‘May I have this dance?’ Raihan asks. He’s curving his hand around your hip, pushing his thumb into the bone.
  * ‘What a gentleman,’ you say, and you pull his other hand to you. 
  * That sharp canine makes an appearance when he grins.
  * He likes this side of you.
  * You lead him to the dance floor, where the music is louder and the people are closer.
  * Neon lights flash, thumping in your body like the rumbling bass.
  * His hands are definitely curious.
  * But, so are yours.




	7. Steam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from @salandition on tumblr:  
> "A fic idea for u.... Leon’s got a bit of a wee crush on you, a trainer at Wyndon stadium. One night he uses the group showers at the gym, only for YOU to also be there even tho it’s late. And he’s a dumb himbo and trying not to ogle you and show u how embarrassed and tense he is as you full on get naked and shower with him and try to talk to him all casually . Hoo hoo!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2: A Few Degrees Hotter (Chapter 15)
> 
> This lil fic isn’t explicit (& still follows my Rules of no NSFW), but i’ll give it an unofficial T+ rating since the imagery is more vivid than some may be comfortable with. If you don’t like reading about non-explicit bein nekked/suggestive themes/or being the focus of some champion fantasies, don’t read :)

**Steam** _(LeonxReader)_

You.

Wet. Dripping. Panting.

Your eyes, your smile, your body.

Here with him.

What if you were? 

He could trail his hands down your body, press you against the shower tiles, corner you between the wall and the translucent partition, then he could kiss and nip and suck everything about you. 

All the while wet, dripping, panting.

What if you whispered his name? 

What if he kissed you, soft and slow, what if you trembled at his touch? What if he could feel your lips, pressed against his, between his, feel your breath on his skin. He could start at your lips, then trail down. He could drag his lips down your neck, your throat, your collarbone, bare like that. What if you raised your hands over his shoulders, what if he trailed his fingers down your sides? What if he made you shiver, even with the hot water of the showerhead running over you?

Leon slams his knee into a bench, then jolts himself out of his fantasy with a hiss.

Immediately his face flares red with shame at how easily those lewd thoughts of you took over his mind. In a place as public as the public Wyndon Stadium showers… That was not a good risk to take. He tosses his gym bag onto the bench, then his hat, and he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. He takes a quick glance around.

There’s no one here, and it’s so after hours that even the cleaning crew has gone home.

…It’s late. And he’s alone. Maybe he could just…

No. _No._ Not in a public shower, at his job no less, what if someone came in?

He thought he was getting better at this, of shoving away those thoughts of you. 

And you didn’t even know. 

It took a lot for him crush on someone, and yet you waltzed right in like it was your job to make him a stuttering mess. And how you would _tease_ him. No one else had the gall besides his close friends, and yet, you seemed to get away with it every time. Leon was usually quick with banter himself, but the second he met you, you immediately one-upped him, then one-thousand-upped him, and successfully ran him over with your wit and your charm.

Leon sighed, peeled off his sweaty shirt that clung to his body and flung it onto the bench. Maybe a shower would help clear his mind, though his mind seemed awfully fond of the idea of showering with you.

Alright, maybe he could think about Pokemon or something, consider tactics for his training match tomorrow.

You were training earlier.

You had that fire in your eyes, that wild and unabashed smile, that passion that oozed from every pore. He vividly remembers how your chest rose with each breath, how your pupils dilated with adrenaline, how you rushed up to him after your battle to immediately get his advice. Leon shakes his head to the present again.

 _Stop_ stop stop stop Leon, think about something else. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth.

Yeesh.

He doesn’t even talk with you that often, maybe a couple times a week when your schedules align at the gym. He always makes a beeline right to you, only to make it there and realize he had nothing to say. You always say something though, something clever, and he usually laughs and usually thinks of something in return (never as quickly as he would want, though). He always hovers on the edge of caution in his words, though, so he’s sure you don’t know about his little crush on you.

Leon gathers his towel, soap, and shampoo, and heads to the showerhead at the end. Normally he has his private shower and dressing room, but that exhibition match with Raihan left it in dire need of maintenance (along with a few other rooms in Wyndon Stadium), so here he was, using the public ones. It’s late enough, though, so hopefully no one comes in. His staff isn’t starstruck like most fans, but the last thing he wants is an awkward conversation in the gym showers so late at night. 

Leon grimaces when he steps into the shower stall. It’s not even a stall, but rather a group shower with flimsy, translucent partitions between showerheads. The partition barely goes up to his shoulders, and only down to his knees. He wonders who he can talk to about the sheer lack of privacy these things provide - really it’s almost a joke, like a smug wink to whoever gets to be on the other side. He reaches his hand over it, waves, and can easily count all of his fingers, though they’re blurry. 

He doesn’t give the partitions much thought beyond that, as the shower knob creaks when he turns the water on. It splutters, then runs over him in a steady stream, trailing down his face, neck, chest, all the while collecting the bits of sweat, grime, and dirt from his intense training. Leon lets the water run over him for a few minutes as the steam swirls in his lungs, cleansing him from the inside out. He vaguely wonders what you’re up to at this hour. Probably sleeping.

There’s a rustle, the clang of a locker, and Leon groans inwardly. This is exactly what he didn’t want to happen: forced small talk while being butt-naked. Bathroom etiquette suggests that he doesn’t even make eye-contact, so hopefully whoever just came in follows those unspoken rules too.

“Hey, Leon!”

Leon’s eyes snap open and his blood goes cold.

Oh.

Oh no.

Please.

“Training late tonight too, huh?”

Dear Arceus, please, let this be a dream. Or maybe he’s dead, that’d be even better.

The seconds tick by, but the rustling of clothes doesn’t stop. When he accepts that those sounds aren’t in his imagination, he slowly turns his head.

And his stomach drops, because there you are, sweating, smiling, shining, and you give him a wave.

“I didn’t think anyone else would be in here,” you say. Leon forces a smile.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. He coughs, then clears his throat. “Yeah me either.”

And then, you ask exactly what he wishes you wouldn’t ask.

“Mind if I join you?” you ask with a good-natured smile.

Flashes of his fantasies erupt in his brain.

You, asking that same question.

You, biting your lip seductively.

You, trailing your fingers up his stomach.

You, looking him in the eyes with your own hooded and hungry gaze.

Leon lets out a squeak.

“S-sure,” he says as he clears his throat to ensure his voice sounds much manlier than squeaking. “Group showers, couldn’t deny that even if I wanted to.”

“Would you want to?” you tease.

Leon swallows another squeak, and instead lets out a breathy laugh. There you go again, with your relentless teasing. How is he supposed to answer? Yes? No? Maybe? What would be charming and make him look like not a huge pervert? He’s faltering in a response, but you don’t seem to mind. The second he finds one, he looks back over to you, only to choke on his spit.

You’ve already pulled off your pants and folded them on the bench and are in the process of pulling your shirt up over your head. Leon’s eyes zigzag over your frame, unconsciously drinking in every inch of you as quickly as he can. Heat pools deep in his stomach, because you look just like he fantasized you would.

This is getting dangerous. 

You finally pull your head out from your shirt and toss it on top of your pants. Leon whips his head back to the shower wall, and squeezes his eyes closed as if to squeeze out that image of you. It’s already ingrained behind his eyelids though, properly stored in his brain so he can access it too easily. 

He hears more rustle of cloth, but he doesn’t dare look over again. You’re probably wearing nothing, your skin is probably glowing in the soft yellow light of the mirror lamps, and Leon suddenly wishes he had turned on all the lights when he came in instead of just the moody dim ones. Your bare feet pat against the tiled floor, and Leon holds his breath.

Please stay at the other end.

You pass the end showerhead.

Please stay at the showerhead second to the end.

You pass the showerhead second to the end.

Please stay in the third to the end.

You pass the third to the end, and Leon’s heart is beating in his ears the closer you step.

He squeezes his eyes closed again, though his fantasies push into his mind.

You, stepping in behind him.

You, curving your hands around his hips.

You, pressing yourself against his back.

You, kissing his neck, his shoulders, down his spine.

Leon lets out a shaky breath.

“You okay?” you ask, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. Your voice is close, much too close, and Leon dares to peek as to which shower stall you picked.

Really, he shouldn’t be surprised when he sees you’ve picked the one right next to his.

“Yeah,” Leon says. “Just had a long day of training.”

“Same,” you say as you turn on your own shower. You seem to notice his tension as you set your toiletries on the ground. “Don’t take it personally that I’m right next to you, this is the best shower. The temperature and the water pressure is perfect. If you were in this one I’d probably kick you out.”

Leon lets out another breathy laugh.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that,” he says as he looks everywhere that isn’t you. 

“Or I’d ask to share,” you say with a lighthearted chuckle.

Leon’s heart pounds.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that either,” Leon says. His voice is too quiet to be teasing, and in his periphery he sees you furrow your brow.

“I’m wounded,” you say. “I think I’d make a great shower partner. I’d get all the spots on your back that you can’t reach.”

“I can reach all the spots,” Leon says stupidly, even though he can’t.

You switch subjects and start talking about your training, and Leon tries his best to listen. He needs to get his shampoo, but it’s sitting on the floor. Could he just… lean down and grab it? Would that be weird? But then he’d be nose to nose with that translucent partition, and effectively, nose to nose with your blurry and bare figure. He closes his eyes, pats around the ground, finds his shampoo, and stands straight again.

“Oh, can I borrow some of that?” you ask. “I left my shampoo in my other bag.”

Leon turns before he can think when you hold your hand out. He gets a glimpse of your smile, of your hair, wet and dripping, of your cheeks flushed from the steam. 

What if your face was flushed from something else?

He slaps that thought away, squeezes some shampoo into your open palm, and turns back to the wall.

Does he even need to shower? Maybe he could just dry off and shower at home and not risk you finding out about his crush in an embarrassing and non-gentlemanly way. He needs to calm down, because the heat that’s pooling in his stomach is getting needier and needier as seconds pass.

“Leon?” you say, and Leon jolts into focus again.

“Huh?” he grunts. “Sorry, what? I was… spacing out.”

“Yeah I can tell,” you say. “I asked why you’re in here and not in your own shower.”

“Oh, mine’s getting fixed,” Leon answers, and when you close your eyes as the water gently hits your face, Leon can’t stop himself from peeking.

There’s your frame, bare and blurry, behind the translucent partition. What if he stepped around it? Or better yet, what if it wasn’t there? What if he could step to you, press his thumbs into your hips, pull you into his chest?

He shakes his head into focus again. Yep, he can shower at his house, maybe take care of this tension at his house too. Leon rinses the shampoo out, rinses himself off, collects his things, ties his towel around his hips, and walks past you as quickly as he can, forcing his eyes forward the entire time. He barely makes it to his bag before he hears your voice again.

“Leon?” you ask. 

It’s quiet, much softer than what’s normal for you. He glances to you, brow furrowed at the hesitation in your voice. He can only see above your shoulders and below your knees, and you’re backed far enough away from the partition so he can only catch the foggy color of your skin.

“Do you not like me?” you ask. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“What?” Leon breathes. “What makes you say that?”

The only sound is the echo of the water hitting the tiles beneath you when you bite your lip.

“Whenever I talk to you, you barely respond,” you confess. “And I just… I feel like you’re really uncomfortable around me. I want to know what I did so I can properly apologize.”

What you did? How about who you are? Charming and captivating and attractive, always knowing what to say to get him to blush.

“You didn’t do anything, promise,” Leon says quickly. “It’s me. I’m always awkward when I like someone.”

Your eyebrows raise, and so do his.

Oh.

Oh no.

Because there is that sly smirk, slowly inching onto your face.

“You like someone?” you repeat smugly, and you step forward and rest your chin on your fist and your elbow on the partition. “Little ol’ me?”

“W-well,” Leon stutters. “Y’know, like, platonically. A-as a friend, co-worker, u-um, a comrade.”

“Hm,” you hum, and you take a step towards the partition. Your figure is a little less fuzzy the closer you step. Dangerously less fuzzy. “Platonically?”

“Yep,” Leon squeaks as his eyes flick to yours, then to your blurry outline. You catch his slip when he stares for a second, and he meets your eyes, and abruptly turns. “I-I’m going to shower at my house.”

“Why?” you ask. “You don’t want to shower with me?”

His eyes widen again when he realizes what he revealed to you. His face is flaring red.

“The… the water is cold here,” he stutters. Leon steps around the shower wall to pull on his pants and pull on his shirt out of view of you and your blurry figure. He gets tangled, thanks to his damp skin, and he can hear your laugh echo in the room.

“I told you this one is perfect,” you say. “There’s plenty of room for you too.”

“A-and I need to feed my… my oven is on,” Leon blurts as he collects his things as fast as he can. “See you tomorrow!”

“It’s a date!” you call, and your words echo around in the showers, then down the hall as Leon rushes out.

Your words follow him, and that image of you and those fantasies stay unfortunately prominent in his mind, even when he gets home.

Especially when he gets home.


	8. All Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from Anonymous on tumblr:  
> "A silly request but... Raihan with a s/o who uses a leaf blower on him before he comes into the house.. because of all the sand his pokemon kick up how would he react?"

**All Clean** _(RaihanxReader)_

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious.”

“Babe, come on, it’s not even that bad.”

“Don’t ‘babe’ me.”

"Can’t I even get a kiss?”

“No, because then you’ll get sand all over me too.”

“It’s _not_ that _bad.”_

“I just vacuumed, you’re not getting sand in the carpet again.”

Raihan is standing at the end of your driveway, lips pursed, hands on his hips, because you refuse to let him come any closer. When he takes a step towards you, you raise your leaf blower threateningly, and Raihan backs down again.

“You’ve got dirt all over _you_ ,” Raihan huffs as he gestures to your mud-stained shoes and your dusty gardening gloves. “So you can’t go in the house either.”

“I can take my shoes off and shake out the dirt,” you retort. “Unlike some people who just waltz inside without even trying.”

Raihan crosses his arms and taps his foot. His countenance suddenly shifts, and he’s batting his eyelashes, swaying back and forth, gazing at you with those big, beautiful eyes.

“The garden looks so nice now,” Raihan hums. “You did such a good job on your project, I’m so proud of you.”

“Not gonna work, bud.”

“C’mon!” Raihan whines as that sunny countenance drops. “I came all the way out here to see you. Don’t you want some boyfriend cuddles? Some kisses? Hugs?”

“I want you to not be sandy,” you say again. “I already told you to make sure you clean up after your battles.”

“I figured I could clean up _here,”_ Raihan mumbles as he traces a little heart in the sand that’s piled around his feet (a testament in itself, but it’s not like he’ll admit it.) His eyelids lower, and that sharp canine makes an appearance when his bites his lip. “We could even clean up toge-”

Your leaf blower cuts off his sentence when you aim it at him, and a pulse of air blasts against him. He trips backwards at the sudden gale, coughing and spluttering as you make sure every particle of sand is on the ground and not on his clothes. After you sweep the leaf blower up, then down, then up and down again, you flick off the switch, and give him a smile.

“There,” you hum. “All clean.”

Raihan’s clothes are haphazardly strewn, and his headband is halfway off his head. Before he has time to respond, you trot up to him, cup his face, and pull him into a loving kiss. He returns it after a few seconds, and you smile against his lips.

“Love you,” you say sweetly when you step back, and he squints at you. “Now you can come inside.”

You weave your fingers around his, and finally let him follow you up your driveway. Raihan sighs dejectedly when he gives your hand a squeeze.

“You sure know how to prove a point,” he chuckles. “Guess I’ll actually clean up properly from now on.”

“That’s all I ask,” you hum, and you give his hand a squeeze in return.


	9. Chicken Noodle Soup & Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from Anonymous on tumblr:  
> "Can we get Raihan and Leon's reactions to their crush kissing them on the forehead and murmuring, soft and sweet, for them to sleep well before slipping out of the room quietly. Their crush thinks they were asleep."

**Chicken Noodle Soup & Movie Night ** _(LeonxReader, RaihanxReader)_

## Leon:

“I’m not sick,” Leon mumbles, and his glassy eyes follow you as you move about the room. You don’t humor him with a response. “You don’t have to do all this.”

You only hum as you continue to bustle about. More tissues, more blankets, and you should probably check his temperature again soon, too. He’s taken his medicine (though you hid it in a snack like you have to do with your Pokemon), and you finally got him into bed after some coaxing. He’s propped up on three pillows, he lets out a hearty cough, full and phlegmy, and you return to his side once his fit is over. You gently sit on the covers, set your hand on his forehead, and purse your lips.

“Yep, still burning up,” you say, and Leon groans.

“I’m fine,” he croaks. “You’re making too big a deal about this.”

“Leon,” you say sternly as you go to find the thermometer. “You’re shaking with chills, burning up, and hacking up a lung every few minutes. You’d probably still be on the pitch if I _wasn’t_ making a big deal about this.”

_“Exactly,”_ Leon says in exasperation as he throws his arms up. The motion sets off another series of deep coughs. “I could be finishing my training! It’s just the sniffles, nothing more.”

“Alright,” you say, and you sit beside him again. “If you don’t have a fever, then you’re right and I’ll leave you alone. If you _do_ have a fever, then you need to promise to cooperate. Deal?”

Leon’s glassy eyes squint, though the effect of his frustrated glare isn’t much when he sniffles through it. You raise an eyebrow.

“Fine,” he says, but he doesn’t look at you. 

You offer him the thermometer, he childishly snatches it from your hand, then sticks it in his mouth. You adjust the quilt around his shoulders, fluff his pillows for him, and mindlessly brush his bangs from his face. His eyes widen at the motion, then his gaze flicks to the side again.

Hm, his cheeks are looking quite pink… he definitely has a fever.

The thermometer beeps, you pluck it from his mouth, and showcase that your prediction came true. You set the thermometer on his nightstand without a smug word spoken, but Leon can certainly read it on your face.

“Now that you’ll cooperate, do you want some orange juice?” you ask.

“No.”

“Some candy?”

“No.”

“How about some chicken noodle soup?”

Leon doesn’t immediately grumble anything, but instead fiddles with the stitching on the quilt.

“...with the spiral noodles?” Leon asks quietly.

“Mmhmm.”

Leon purses his lips (not for long since he can’t breathe through his nose), and he finally mumbles an:

“Okay.”

“I’ll go heat some up for you,” you say, and you give his hand a pat. He curls one of his fingers around yours, just to quickly retract his hand again. His cheeks are looking even pinker than before, now. Is he getting warm?

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

“Try to get some rest,” you hum, and after adjusting his blankets again, you head out of his room and into the kitchen.

You had a can of chicken noodle soup (with the spiral noodles) in your pantry, and you stuffed that and some cough drops in your bag before you came over. You rustle around Leon’s kitchen for a pot to start cooking his meal. As you stir and taste-test the soup every few minutes, you wonder how Leon’s feeling. He isn’t hacking so much, so as the soup simmers, you step to his room to peek.

He’s still propped up on his pillows, though his scowl is gone and his eyes are closed. He’s wrinkling his nose in his sleep, as if to push his bangs from his face without using his hands. You let a smile slip, and a plume of affection blooms in your chest. You step over as quietly as you can, brush his bangs from his face, and before you can stop yourself, you gently press your lips to his forehead.

“Sleep well, love,” you say softly. “I know you want to work, but you need to rest and heal too. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You’re not sure why you’re telling this to his sleeping figure - perhaps telling it to him awake would be much too embarrassing. Leon’s eyebrow twitches, so you stand as quickly and quietly as you can, suddenly embarrassed by your tender moment, and you step out of the room.

If you had stayed for a second longer, you would have seen how Leon’s cheeks tinged pink yet again, how he smiled to himself, curled against his pillows, and so sweetly repeated one word:

“Love.”

## Raihan

It was movie night, Raihan’s favorite night of the week, because that’s the night he got to spend with you. More importantly, that’s the night he got to sit on his couch snuggled in blankets and sweaters and drinking tea and bantering back and forth with you as you barely watched whatever was on the screen. It was always such a good excuse to sit close, and it was so natural just to casually wrap an arm around the back of his couch, and he decided that tonight was the night he’d finally make it around your shoulders.

Movie night started out as a joke when you mentioned that you had never seen _Love in the Time of Pokerus_ (a cult classic), and Raihan was absolutely _appalled_ and he _demanded_ that you come over that same night to watch it. You agreed, and even brought snacks. The next week, you were shocked that Raihan had never seen _Pulp Fanfiction_ (another cult classic), and you demanded movie night round two. The week after, Raihan suggested you both should probably make movie night a trilogy in order to honor the true cinematic genius that was trilogies, and you agreed by saying it would be an insult to art if you didn’t.

Raihan had lost count of what number you were at, but you were definitely beyond a trilogy, beyond a quadrilogy, and beyond whatever you called what was after five movies. Movie night had even evolved into dinner and movie night when you came a few weeks ago to his apartment and he could hardly focus with how much your stomach was grumbling. You tried to tell him you were fine, and when he noticed how genuinely embarrassed you were, he lied and said he hadn’t eaten dinner yet anyway, so it really wasn’t a hassle to make you something.

It was, however, an excellent opportunity to show off his cooking expertise. Although he was hoping for affirmation to begin with, your enthusiastic praise actually made him blush. Then, your comment on his blush made him blush harder. Not his best moment, but at least it made you laugh.

Raihan practically skipped to his apartment, noticing how beautiful the autumn trees were and how crisp the air felt in his lungs. Leaves crunched beneath his feet like a jaunty melody to add to the giddiness welling in him. It was your turn to pick the movie, so that meant it was his turn to cook, and he already had your favorite meal planned. It was going to be perfect. You had told him to wear his comfiest sweater, and you would wear yours, because whatever you were going to watch tonight deemed it necessary. He was fine with that, because big sweaters on you made you even cuter. If you were wearing _his_ big sweater, well, that’d be just icing on the cake. One step at a time, though.

As he unlocked his apartment Raihan decided that, yep, tonight was the night. He’d finally break the touch barrier. You’ve hugged before (Raihan made sure of that), but never for longer than a normal friend-hug would last. You’d be full of delicious food, tired from your long shift at work, and you’d be snuggled and comfy and cozy in all the blankets he’d set up. He’d have the window open a crack so you’d want the fresh air and the blankets at the same time, but because you’d be a little chilly, you’d need to sit closer.

It was the perfect recipe for cuddling.

After cooking and prepping and swallowing his excitement time and time again, you finally texted to say you were on your way. Raihan used to be embarrassed by how hard he was crushing (Leon would even say whipped), but now he couldn’t care less. He wasn’t sure how you felt, though, so he tried not to lay the flirting on too thick like he would otherwise, just in case that scared you off. He’d rather have you as a friend than not at all.

There was a knock on the door, and Raihan nearly jumped out of his skin. Okay, be cool, be cool. He checked his appearance in the reflective microwave door, tousled his hair _just_ enough, and stuffed his hands into his pockets nice and casually. He sucked in a breath, then opened the door.

And, he let it out, unable to hide his smile when he saw you standing there in your oversized sweater and cheeks pink from the cold.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ve brought options.”

“Options?” Raihan repeated as he leaned against his doorjam, perfectly cool. “That’s not how movie night works.”

“I’ve already taken it to the movie night board of advisors,” you said as you invited yourself into his apartment. “And they approved.”

You bantered back and forth, just as you did every week, sidestepping around each other as you prepared to eat. You were stepping closer to him than you usually did, though, but maybe that was just in Raihan’s head? It did solidify his plan of finally making a move tonight, though. He even took the chance of brushing your waist as he stepped behind you, but he didn’t get much feeling beyond your thick sweater.

Once his initial excitement to see you ebbed, Raihan covered his yawn with his sleeve. He actually had a pretty busy day himself; early workout, then extra training with the new apprentices at his gym, and a training match with Kabu. And actually, the day before that was pretty busy too… he bit back another yawn at the thought.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, just tired,” Raihan said as he stretched.

“You better not fall asleep,” you teased, and Raihan rolled his eyes as he followed you to his couch.

You both decided on one of the corny holiday movies you brought, turned it on, Raihan adjusted the blankets, you took your regular places on his couch, and his heart was pounding in his ears. He couldn’t initiate anything too early though, he had to set the mood.

Were candles too corny? Too obvious? You liked candles though, right?

“You like candles?” Raihan asked. “A fan gave me one earlier, and it smells like vanilla. Since I didn’t make a dessert, I figured that would be fitting.”

You laughed, and Raihan smiled at the sound.

“Yeah, candles are good,” you said. “Are you getting sentimental on me, Raihan?”

“No,” Raihan huffed, though his smile was prominent on his face. “Maybe.”

He stood, lit the candle, set in on the coffee table, and while he was up, he got your tea and flicked off the lights. Everything was going according to plan, so he took the initiative of sitting a few inches closer the next time he sat down.

The movie started, and the opening scene was _immediately_ corny. Raihan groaned, but when he looked at your reaction, you had your lower lip jutting out, you were leaning towards the screen, and absolutely eating it up. 

“Are _you_ getting sentimental?” Raihan asked incredulously. “These movies are so cliche!”

“That’s what makes them nice!” you huffed. You hugged a blanket to your chest in embarrassment. “Yeah some are dumb, but they’re all like, wholesome and warm.”

“Are you cold?” Raihan asked. He knew that’s not what you meant, but he’d snatch any opportunity he had tonight. “Here, let me help.”

He scooched closer, enough that your thighs were touching, and he flung his blanket over both of your laps. He set his arm around the back of his couch, then in a moment of pure, calculated risk, curled it around your shoulders instead.

You blinked a few times, and Raihan tried not to make his tension obvious, though he did let out a deep breath when you eased into his side. Neither of you spoke a word about it with your mouths, but as the movie played, your bodies spoke loudly enough when you curled your arm around his waist, and nestled into his chest.

Tonight was going _perfectly._

It was all a little cliche: the movie, the blankets, the snuggling in autumn evening, but Raihan didn’t mind. This was the most comfortable he had been in a while, and his eyes slowly drooped as the night went on. He jolted into focus when you poked his stomach though, because apparently the credits were already rolling.

“That was a good one,” Raihan mumbled, and your laugh shook your shoulders, so it shook his.

“You didn’t even watch it,” you tease when you poke him again.

“Yes I did. The woman came from that big city to the small town, then she met a guy who was humble and she didn’t think she’d like the little town but she did, he taught her the true meaning of family or friendship or something, then they kiss and live happily ever after on their quaint farm.”

Whatever you mumbled next was incoherent, and Raihan chuckled again. He gently fiddled with the fabric of your sweater sleeve and his eyes started to droop again. How could he get you to stay for just a little bit longer?

He didn’t need to think long when you bashfully mumbled next.

“There’s a sequel…”

“Amazing,” Raihan yawned, and he inwardly pouted when you got up to start the next movie. He held his arm out when you came back, an obvious invitation that any other position would be absurd. You quickly nuzzled against him again as the opening scene started.

Raihan let out a yawn and let his eyes close. He actually was dozing at first, but when you started talking to him about the movie, he jolted into focus again. After your brief conversation, he felt how you melted against him, he pretended to let out another snore, then he curled closer to you. And suddenly, the credits were rolling again, and you were both laying on his couch, tangled in thick sweaters and blankets and each other. 

“Raihan,” you whispered. “Raihan wake up, the movie’s over.”

He wondered what you’d do, so he kept his eyes closed. He did curl his arms around you tighter - sleeping people did that, right? He didn’t want the night to end.

“Raihan I’ve gotta go home,” you whispered. “I can text you later, okay?”

He didn’t respond, though he was certainly frowning in his head when you untangled yourself from him. He listened to you bustling about, probably collecting your things, but he wondered why you suddenly paused. He heard the soft pat of footsteps, he almost opened his eyes, then his nerves tingled when you pressed your lips to his forehead.

“Um, tonight was fun,” you muttered. “Sleep well.”

He heard you scuffle away, heard his door open, then close again.

Raihan bolted up.

Did you just… did you just kiss him? 

His legs and arms and the rest of his body were haphazardly tangled in blankets, so Raihan stumbled to the floor when he tried to stand.

“Hey!” Raihan called. “Hold on!”

He could do that for you too, except aim a few inches lower and _really_ make it the perfect ending to the perfect night. Luckily you were only halfway down the hall.

Yeah, movie night was easily Raihan’s favorite night of the week.


	10. Primarina Bubblegum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anonymous on tumblr:  
> "can I maybe get a quick Drabble of marnie and piers hanging out just doing sibling stuff? like maybe piers has agreed to let her braid his hair or something of the like idk but I thrive off of sibling moments"

**Primarina Bubblegum** _(Marnie, Piers)_

“How’s it goin’ Marnie?” Piers asked. He stood in the doorway to his sister’s bedroom, leaning against the frame in a slight pause on his way to the kitchen.

“S'okay,” Marnie replied as she laid on her bed. She wasn’t doing much, just scrolling through her phone, but Piers’ eyes caught her laying there, just staring at the ceiling, only moments before. She snatched her phone up before he passed the doorway, a motion too quick and suspicious for it to not warrant big brother attention.

“And I’m a Primarina made of bubblegum,” Piers said in return as he raised an eyebrow.

This spurred a confused glance from Marnie, and a soft sigh from Piers. He didn’t wait for a response beyond that, and instead stepped into her room. She sat up fully and rested against her bed frame as Piers sat at the other end.

“What has you down, Marnie?” Piers asked softly. “That Victor kid again?”

Marnie shrugged, her eyebrow twitched just a fraction, but that was as much of a response as a verbal response - Piers knew Marnie better than he knew himself.

“He keeps beatin’ me in our battles,” Marnie sighed. “Keeps beatin’ me like I’m nothin’, like I’m just a game or a roadblock to Leon.”

“Are you nothin’?” Piers asked.

Marnie’s brow furrowed - fully this time, and her eyes flicked around Piers’ face as she processed his words.

“Well… no. I’m the strongest trainer in Spikemuth…”

“Yeah, see?” Piers said with a shrug. “You’re tough, tough enough to beat me in record time. There’s always gonna be someone better than you, stronger than you, but you can’t let that stop you from moving forward.”

“He isn’t stronger than me!” Marnie huffed suddenly. Her face pinched into a small scowl, too cute to be threatening, but there was no way Piers would comment on that now. “I just need to train harder.”

“You’ve been training hard all day,” Piers said. “Get some rest tonight, and start up again tomorrow. Can’t be a good trainer if you don’t take care of yourself too.”

Marnie nodded, and Piers stood again. His socks pressed into peony pink carpet as he headed towards the door. It was just a sliver of sound, in the way Marnie swallowed, but it was enough to get Piers to turn.

“Could you stay in here with me for a bit?” Marnie asked quietly. “An’ I brush your hair?”

Piers smiled, and warmth bloomed in him at the simple request. She hardly ever asked that anymore, only saved it for when she really was feeling down. Piers turned and gave a shrug.

“Yeah, haven’t done it in myself in weeks anyway.”

“I can tell.”

There was no hint of laughter in her voice, but when the coner of Piers’ mouth twitched up, so did Marnie’s.

“Yeah yeah ha ha,” Piers said, and he gave the biggest eyeroll he could muster as he sat on her bed again. “I got Ma’s thick hair, and you got Pop’s silky hair. You got it easy.”

“You can do more with yours though,” Marnie huffed as she plucked her hairbrush from the nightstand. “I can’t even do any curls or nothin’, they’ll just fall out.”

“Oi, who you curlin’ your hair for?” Piers asked, whipping his head back around. Marnie’s face tinged as pink as her carpet, and she turned Piers’ head back around.

“No one!” she huffed, but the way she dragged her brush through his hair wasn’t exactly cool and collected. “Hush about it.”

“Is it that Victor kid again? I’ll kick his ass.”

“Piers!” Marnie yelped, and she tugged on his hair in defiance. Piers let out a chuckle.

“Alright alright,” he said, and Marnie went back to brushing. “If that kid hurts you then I’ll be on him like a Perrserker’s claws. My boots don’t have spiked heels for nothin’.”

Marnie playfully tugged on a bundle of Piers’ hair again, and he let out another chuckle.

“I thought you were a Primarina made of bubblegum?” Marnie said as a smile bloomed on her face. Piers smiled too, and gave another eyeroll.

“Whatever, you gonna brush or keep snacking your maw?”

Marnie laughed and did indeed keep brushing. Light chuckles filled the air, and, unfortunately, so did Piers’ yelp every time the brush snagged.

(Which was rather often.)


	11. Should We Kiss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from Anonymous on tumblr:  
> "Fake dating au w Leon plsss"

**Should We Kiss?** _(LeonxReader)_

“Should we hold hands?” you whisper to Leon. 

He nods quickly, brushes his fingers against yours, between yours, hesitates for a second, then laces them together. Your fingers are barely hooked together, loose enough so your palms bump as you walk. You try to discreetly clear your throat, as if to expel these strange feelings inside you, as you walk hand-in-hand with your best mate through downtown Wyndon.

This isn’t a normal occurance for you, not in the slightest, you holding hands with Leon. You had never in your life thought about it until he came to you a few days ago with the strangest request. He had barged into your apartment as he usually does (despite your insistence that he knocks like a normal person), but his frazzled expression left no room for scolding.

“I need your help,” Leon had spluttered as he raced to you on your couch. He didn’t even close the door, but he was talking too quickly for you to even get a word in about it. “You know that magazine in Sinnoh, the one that’s raunchy but is super popular with that editor in chief who’s also that photographer and also that column writer and also that designer?”

“Uh,” you had grunted. “Maybe?”

“You know the one who does all of those risque photoshoots with Pokemon and gym leaders in Sinnoh but recently they’ve been expanding to other regions to try and get suggestive photos of all the leaders and people in the league and stuff?”

“I… I guess?”

“Well she keeps contacting my agent and won’t take no for an answer but I don’t want to do any suggestive photos for her rubbish magazine because I’ve got a good reputation of being family friendly and I don’t want Hop or my mum to see me in pictures like that but she somehow got my number and keeps calling and leaving weird voicemails and I think she actually wants _me_ beyond like just for photoshoots and stuff but I don’t want to talk to her and I don’t know how to get her to stop.”

You blinked a few times. You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again, and when it seemed Leon had finished his explanation, you motioned for him to sit on the couch. He sat beside you, but his wide eyes were still searching yours, as if by staring hard enough, the strange and uncomfortable Sinnoh editor-in-chief designer lady would stop propositioning him.

“What can _I_ do?” you asked, since that’s all you could think of to ask at the time.

And that is what led you to where you are now: holding hands with Leon in downtown Wyndon. You’re not sure why something is pulling in your stomach as he bumps shoulders with you - you’ve bumped shoulders before. You’ve walked closely before. You’ve never held hands before, though, and it seems your body doesn’t know how to respond.

He had mentioned that Sinnoh designer would leave him alone if he were dating someone, you asked who he’d even want to date, he said he didn’t know, so you, being the good friend you are, had offered your services. Leon had perked right back up - no one would suspect a thing! You’re together all the time anyway, and if Leon were romantically involved with someone, perhaps that lady would back off.

It was working, so far, and it only took one post on his social media with him kissing your cheek for her risque voicemails to stop.

It also meant, however, that a blast of texts, calls, and comments from his family, friends, and Rose himself started pouring in.

You and Leon had explained yourselves well enough to everyone, and it mostly took a few sentences of clarification. It seemed everyone was already aware of the Sinnoh designer, and after getting your insurance that it was all just pretend and you’d ‘break up’ soon anyway, everyone went happily on their way. There were a few bumps in the road (particularly when you both told Sonia and Raihan), since they both glanced at each other, raised an eyebrow, then for some reason Leon couldn’t stop stuttering. 

“Maybe we could get lunch,” Leon offers, and you nod vigorously. “At a public place, so everyone sees.”

“Good idea,” you say, and you begin scanning the shopfronts. Leon is already pulling you along somewhere, and before you know it, you’re stepping into your _favorite_ restaurant. How did he know that? Perhaps just because you’re best mates.

You pick a booth that’s public enough, yet private enough, and Leon doesn’t bother looking at the menu. He mentions you should share your meal since that’s a thing that couples do, and you agree. He mentions he should feed you a bite, and after a bit of blushing on your end, you let him. It makes you squirm, how he stares into your eyes, how he rests his cheek on his fist when he holds the fork out to you. He’s definitely a good actor - anyone passing by would probably say he’s even in love with you.

That’d be silly though, since this is all just a favor, just pretend.

He tries to pay, you insist you pay, and you bicker while the waitress awkwardly waits for you both to decide. Leon insists that since it was his idea for a date, he gets to pay. You pout for a moment and let him, just like a partner would. While he chats with the waitress, you wonder why your heart flutters at the word ‘date,’ and why you can’t get that image of Leon’s eyes out of your brain.

After being out in public enough, you and Leon head back to your apartment. He’s holding your hand again, though instead of loosely tangled fingers, your hand is secure in his, and he even rubs his thumb over yours.

You wonder why you like that motion so much.

When you make it to your apartment you flop onto your couch. Leon is chatting with you again, just as you normally would as friends since you’re not in public, but you can’t get an itch out of your mind. If that designer comes back, she might want more ‘proof’… You bite your lip anxiously.

“What’s up?” Leon asks. Why are you now so much more aware of the color of his eyes? “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. “It’s… it’s nothing, it’s stupid.”

“C’mon,” he teases. “We’re dating now, you can tell your boyfriend anything. Well, I mean you could tell me anything before too, but even more so now.”

You wring your hands together. It’s a stupid request, much too embarrassing, too. Leon pokes and he prods, until you swat his hand away.

“Okay,” you huff. “I was just…. Thinking…. We should practice… you know…”

Leon raises an eyebrow.

“…kissing.”

Leon raises both eyebrows.

“J-just so it looks natural if we have to in public!” you splutter. “I don’t think people would buy it if you were the type of guy to _only_ kiss in private, s-so I was just… thinking…”

Leon is still staring.

“We don’t have to!” you blurt again. His silent shock is making your heart thump - augh, you knew you shouldn’t have said anything. Nonetheless, you try to save yourself from the hole you’re digging. “I just thought if that designer lady comes back she wouldn’t believe we were dating until we kissed in public at some point! But we can’t make it look like an awkward first kiss!”

Leon is frozen in place, staring at you, and you bite your lip when he finally breathes a response.

“Yeah,” he whispers. He seems a little dazed, for some reason. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“Okay,” you say. “Okay, yeah… so… um.”

“Right, right,” Leon says as he shakes his head into focus. He adjusts how he’s sitting on the couch, you stand, then straddle his hips. You settle yourself into his lap, and Leon’s eyebrows raise again. You quickly jerk back.

“I-I, sorry!” you stutter. “You just, you moved so I… I um…”

“No, no this is fine!” Leon blurts in return. When you motion to slide off his lap he quickly grabs your hips to pull you back. “This is fine, it’s more realistic.”

“Yeah,” you say. His hands are resting on your hips, though it seems he’s not sure where to put them. He trails to your thighs, just for his fingers to twitch, and he curves around your hips again. “Yeah that’s true.”

“So, um,” Leon whispers. His brow is furrowed as he scans your face, and he’s still trying to figure out where to put his hands.

“Right,” you say. “Let’s… yeah, okay.”

Your conversation isn’t much of a conversation anymore, but rather awkward and embarrassed half-statements as you both adjust to you being on his lap. He’s finally settled his hands, and you lean in and inch. He leans in an inch, you lean in an inch, until you’re both a nose bump away. The tension in the air forces an awkward smile out of you, and the sight of your smile draws out a breathy laugh from Leon too.

“Okay,” you whisper. “So…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leon breathes. “I’ll just…”

“Right,” you whisper, again unimpressed by this lack-of-conversation.

Leon’s eyes flick to yours, then down to your lips, and he leans in another inch. He gently presses his lips against yours, soft and sweet, and pulls back. It was a simple kiss, something small, closed-mouth and devoid of any heat, and yet it makes you giggle again. You can’t hide your awkward laugh, so you thunk your head onto Leon’s shoulder.

“What?” Leon asks, but now he’s laughing too because of how you can’t hide your embarrassment. “Was it bad?”

“No!” you say into his shirt. “It was weird! Kissing you is weird!”

“Weird how?” Leon retorts. “I’m a good kisser!”

“I don’t know,” you laugh again, and your groan is muffled by his shirt. “It was just weird.”

“Do you not want to practice again then?”

“Well no,” you mumble. “We still should because I can’t giggle like mad if we have to kiss in public.”

“Get it together,” Leon says, though his laugh is rumbling through you. He pulls your head off his shoulder and squishes your cheeks. “We can do this.”

“Yemphswecan,” you say with a serious nod, and Leon snorts. He pushes you off his lap and you slump to the couch like you were a bundle of laundry, and Leon crawls over to you. He’s laughing just as much as you are, and now his hair is draping over you as he threatens to squish your cheeks again. “Okay okay, I’m done, come kiss me.”

You’re not sure why your request shifts something in the air, but Leon’s giddy grin shifts into something softer, thoughtful almost, but definitely still bashful. Your eyes zigzag over his face, at how the corners of his mouth twitch, as if he’s still deciding on what this position means to him. 

He cups your face this time, leans in again, and still pauses. There’s less giggling, none at all, actually, as your eyes stay trained on his lips.

You’re not sure why he so gently brushes his thumb over your cheek, or why it blooms something deep in your stomach.

He kisses you again, a little longer this time, enough for you both to figure out how to move your lips in tandem. Soft sounds waft when he kisses you again, then again after that, as he adjusts himself on top of you. He’s pressing his chest against yours, and his weight is strangely soothing, though you can’t focus on it much when Leon opens his mouth just a sliver, just enough of an invitation for you to do the same.

Your single, chaste, closed-mouth kiss is shifting, growing longer and warmer as each second passes. Leon is curling closer, shifting his other hand to your waist, curving it under your back. You adjust slowly, arch your back to give his hand room between you and the couch cushion beneath you, and Leon almost melts against you. 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been practicing, but it’s gotten to the point where it’s hard to breathe. Leon is strangely in-sync with you, and you break off at the same time.

“A little longer?” he breathes, and you nod.

His next kiss is harder, tinged with heat, and you try to match it. His tongue slides across your bottom lip, and a squeak of shock slips out of your throat. Your cheeks are heating up, as is the rest of your body, when Leon starts kissing you harder, faster, and a little more desperately. You practice and you practice and you practice, long enough to where you’re both breathing hard, long enough to know exactly how to kiss Leon in a way that makes a moan slip.

He moves to your cheek, to your jaw, to your throat, kissing and sucking in a way that makes your heart pound. It isn’t until you let out a sigh, furrow your brow, and whisper his name, that he pauses.

“Leon,” you breathe.

He freezes, and after a second, he lifts his head to meet your gaze. His cheeks are flushed, his pupils dilated, then his expression melts into something bashful. He quickly crawls off of you and you both sit up, trying to discreetly catch your breath, but neither of you do a good job of hiding how dazed you are.

“Sorry,” Leon says as he breathes out a laugh. “I… uh… might’ve gotten carried away there at the end.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s okay. But did we… did we just…” you whisper. “…snog?”

“I think so,” Leon replies.

“We probably could again,” you whisper. “Just to be sure we’re good at it.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Leon whispers in return. “Just in case that Sinnoh lady gets suspicious.”

“Definitely.”

The Sinnoh designer never called back, but you and Leon figured you could ‘pretend’ date just a bit longer, just in case. You pretended to kiss each other in public, and you definitely pretended to kiss each other in private. You picked a few different spots to practice - your couch, his couch, on the floor, on your kitchen table, in his bed - you both certainly got much better at it, too. No one would ever suspect a thing.


	12. Not a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anonymous on tumblr:  
> "Leon trying maybe a little too hard to set up a moment where Hop can finally confess to his crush but there is always just this awkwardness whenever Hop and his crush talk to each other. Like it’s obvious to anyone watching they like each other it’s just they can’t say it"

**Not a Date** _(HopxReader)_

“What’re you getting so fancy for if this isn’t a date?” Leon calls from behind the door. 

Hop was pulling on his shoe and nearly rolled his ankle at the sound of his brother’s question.

“Hair done? Sweater and blazer?” Leon continues. “And just to be clear, this _isn’t_ a date?”

“Nope,” Hop replies as he double-checks his appearance in the bathroom mirror. “Not a date.”

It’s certainly not a date, certainly not with you. Certainly you and Hop are both just friends, and certainly this is just dinner with a friend.

Which just so happens that friend is, well, you know, _you._

Just because Hop has been attracted to you for eons and you got Raihan to get you a reservation at Hammerlocke’s finest restaurant doesn’t mean it’s a _date_. Just because you texted him about it and he immediately responded yes doesn’t mean it’s a _date_. Just because he couldn’t stop thinking about it at the research lab so he almost caught his hair on fire, just because he flew out to meet Leon at the Hammerlocke hotel without thinking what to wear, doesn’t mean it’s a _date_. That did lead to a frantic call to Sonia, however, who then told Hop everything he needed to know about going to dinner with a special someone (who was just a friend), and just because that led to stopping into the Hammerlocke boutique since he didn’t have anything that wasn’t his lab coat or dirty, and just because that led to him spending a little too much time picking out an outfit that accented his legs and his height and his eye color (according to Sonia’s recommendations), and just because you sent him a picture of what you were going to wear and the thought of you in that outfit made his stomach tie itself in knots, that didn’t mean this was a _date_.

Certainly not.

Hop smooths down his blazer for the umpteenth time, fixes up his hair, and checks his teeth again. It’s certainly not a date with you, so why is he so nervous? He’s not nervous, certainly not, since this isn’t a date.

“You gonna get your first kiss tonight?” comes Raihan’s voice from behind the door, and Hop nearly jumps out of his skin.

 _“Raihan?!”_ Hop spits, and he yanks open the bathroom door to see the smug Gym Leader raising an eyebrow at him. “What’re you doing here?!”

“Ooh, easy killer,” Raihan grins as he gives Hop’s outfit a once-over. He lets out a long whistle. “Look at you, trying to give your date a heart attack?”

“It’s _not_ a _date,_ ” Hop growls, and he glares daggers at Leon, who only offers a sheepish shrug.

“He wanted to help,” Leon says apologetically.

“Help with _what?!”_ Hop asks. 

“Help you on your date,” Raihan answers. “Help you get your first kiss.”

Hop’s jaw drops, and he again glares at Leon, who in turn offers a guilty smile.

“I’ve _kissed_ people,” Hop mumbles as a blush creeps into his cheeks. 

Leon’s eyebrows raise but before Hop can defend his blatant lie, a harsh knock comes from the hotel door. Raihan opens the door and Sonia comes bolting in.

“Where is he? Did he leave?” she splutters. When she meets Hop’s gaze, she sharply inhales, then exhales an, _“Oooh, Hop!”_

She rushes over and fiddles with his blazer, and Hop immediately swats her away.

“Oh, it looks so much better in person,” Sonia coos. “Look at you, so handsome!”

“Who are you, his mum?” Raihan scoffs. Sonia ignores that, and continues smoothing down Hop’s outfit, and Raihan turns to Hop again. “When’re you leaving?”

“Um, soon, I think,” Hop mumbles, and he checks his phone. 

If you’re punctual, you should be knocking on his door any minute. Once Sonia is done cooing, Hop sits on his bed, then stands, then sits again. He chews on his nail as the other three chat, he crosses his legs, just to uncross them, then he paces around the room. Why is his heart beating so hard? Why is he sweating? Why can’t he stop fumbling with his fingers?

“Oh, look at him,” Sonia swoons. “So nervous for his cute little date to arrive.”

“I’m not nervous,” Hop huffs. “Why would I be nervous? It’s just dinner with a friend.”

Suddenly there’s a knock on the door, and Hop’s soul nearly leaves his body. Leon steps up to him and gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ll be fine, Hop,” Leon says gently, and Hop nods.

After a clap on the back from Leon, then a light shove when he doesn’t move, Hop heaves in another breath, heads to the door, then pulls it open.

There you are, not a minute early, not a minute late. You’re standing just as stiff as he is, with your hands behind your back, and it seems like you’re also holding your breath. You both simultaneously puff out the air you’re holding at the sight of each other, neither of you accustomed to the other looking like this. Hop stares for a few seconds, opens his mouth, closes it, then swallows.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi.”

When he makes no other semblance of a response, you shift your weight to your other foot and glance over his ensemble. His hair isn’t as messy as usual, and his usual lab coat is traded for a cable-knit sweater, blazer, and dark jeans.

“You look nice,” you say stiffly.

Hop nods.

“Um, th-thanks,” he mumbles in return. “Sonia picked everything out for me, actually. Said I couldn’t wear a lab coat on a da-er. Dinner. On a dinner… time… event… with a friend.”

“Oh, that’s funny,” you say. “She helped me with my outfit too.”

You smile and nod, then gesture to your own Sonia-compiled outfit. Hop nods as well. What you’re wearing is tighter in certain places - tight enough for Hop to notice how well this outfit compliments your figure. Not that he doesn’t normally notice. Or, er, not that he _does_ normally notice. He clears his throat again.

“Yeah, y-you, look, um, ah,” Hop stammers as his eyes trail down your body. His gaze lingers a second too long, then a second after that, until he flicks his gaze back to yours. “Um, y-you look grood. Good, I mean. Great. You look nice too, is, uh, is what I meant.”

“Hop, dude, get it together,” comes a mutter from behind Hop.

_“Shh, Raihan!”_

Hop whips around. He had been holding the door open with his foot, and Sonia, Leon, and Raihan had jammed themselves into the small crack of the door. They’re like a ladder in that sliver of space, with Sonia at the bottom, then Leon, then Raihan. All of their eyes widen when a furious fire blazes around Hop.

“Get _out_ of here!” Hop hisses as he shoves at them with his foot. They all scamper back and Hop slams closed the door. When Hop turns back to you, you’re holding a massive bouquet out to him.

“I got these for you,” you say quickly. “I, um, I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I just got one of each.”

Hop blinks a few times, then processes that you certainly had. The bouquet is bursting with color, and some of the flowers are practically falling out of the cloth holding them together. He’s not actually quite sure how you’re holding them all with one hand.

“Oh, thanks,” Hop says quietly. “They’re beautiful. I’ll go put them in some water.”

Hop turns, fumbles his hotel key out, and you hear faint hisses from behind the door.

_“Shit, he’s coming!”_

_“Go, go, go!”_

_“Act natural!”_

There’s a flurry of rustling, and when Hop opens the door, he’s surprised he doesn’t break his jaw from how hard his teeth are clenching. Leon is lounging on the bed, and he offers a nonchalant glance.

“Oh, what’s that you got there?” Leon asks as he pretends to watch the tv that isn’t turned on. “Flowers, nice.”

“Yep,” Hop mutters through gritted teeth.

Hop motions to scrounge around for a glass, only to see that one is already prepared with water on the counter. Sonia whistles as she faces the wall.

“How _convenient_ that somebody left this out,” Hop growls as he shoots daggers at the back of Sonia’s head. She flinches.

“Hm? What? Are you talking to me?” Sonia asks as she casually turns around. “Oh hey, flowers, nice.”

“Uh _huh_ ,” Hop grunts as he plunks the flowers into the glass. The sheer mass of the bouquet nearly topples it over, so he props it up with the tissue box and a coffee mug. The toilet flushes, and out comes Raihan.

“So when you go in for the ki- oh hey, flowers, nice.”

 _“Don’t.”_ Hop warns, and the word jerks out from his teeth like poison. Raihan offers a thumbs up. “I am _leaving_ now, and you are all going to stay _here_ and not _follow_ us or _bother_ us or do anything stupid, _got it_?”

Leon, Sonia, and Raihan all nod in unison. Hop threateningly points at all of them, slips out again, and he nearly runs into you.

“Everything alright in there?” you ask.

“Just fine,” Hop growls as he glares into the room. Leon, Sonia, and Raihan all offer a toothy grin, and Raihan even adds a wink. Hop quickly pulls the door closed, though you both hear a faint rustling, hushed and frantic whispers, and the sliding of a window. Hop chooses to ignore it.

You walk down the hotel hallway, neither saying a word, and step into the elevator together. The tinny music crackles around you, and you both stand a few inches farther from each other than you normally do. Hop tries to whistle, but his dry mouth only produces a faint _‘pfflbflff.’_

“Did you say something?” you ask.

“Huh? Oh, no,” Hop says.

“Oh, I thought you said something.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Right, right.”

“Yeah.”

What should he say? Arceus, what do you both normally talk about? Anything? Pokemon? Yeah, you talk about Pokemon. Hop’s voice squeaks in his throat, and he quickly covers it with a cough when you look at him again.

“How was your day?” you ask quickly, and Hop coughs again.

“Good, good, it was good,” he says.

“Good,” you say. “That’s… that’s good.”

“Yeah.”

The tinny elevator music dinks in the background. Hop chances a glance to the floor number.

Only ten more floors to go.

“H-how was yours?” he asks in return.

“Good too.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

Hop bites his lip. Maybe he could have just met you at the restaurant and you wouldn’t have to endure this. Normally he talks non-stop, but for some reason, you always seem to make him forget all the words he knows.

“How’s work?” you ask.

“Good. That’s good too.”

“That’s good.”

Well, this is going great.

The elevator stops and a family walks in, and their chatter helps ease the tension between you. The children bounce around each other, and you step closer to Hop to give them more room. His hand brushes your waist, and you both tense at the feeling. Neither of you move after that, though.

The fresh air of downtown Hammerlocke continues to ease the tension between you, and when you ask about Hop’s research, you both finally delve into conversation. The restaurant is nice (a little dark and moody, and for some reason the waiter insisted that you both sit in a private booth with a candle in the middle of the table), and it’s your turn to talk. You tell him about your own work, your Pokemon team, and Hop rests his cheek on his fist as he listens.

This isn’t a date, but Hop really wishes it was.

The way your eyes glitter like they have little stars in them, the way you smile when you talk about your passions, the way your laugh rings in the air like bells… Hop lets out a melancholy sigh because of all of it. Maybe he could tell you tonight.

You finish your dinner (after Hop accidentally spilled water on you, which made your outfit cling tighter, not that he noticed), you both head back out into downtown Hammerlocke. The moon is high in the sky now, casting a soft glow over you as you walk down the purple-bricked street.

“You’re shivering,” Hop says. “Are you cold?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you say with an awkward laugh. “The water hasn’t dried all the way, and it’s weirdly windy tonight.”

Hop nods and glances around. It does seem strangely windy, as if the wind is only blowing on the both of you. Your hair is tousled because of it, and Hop squints his eyes at the roof of a building. Three shadows quickly duck away, and Hop squints harder.

“Here,” Hop says, and he shimmies out of his blazer, then wraps it around your shoulders. “I run hot anyway, and it’s my fault you’re freezing.”

“Thanks,” you say bashfully, and you tuck his blazer closer. A light pink ebbs into your cheeks, and Hop decides that that’s his favorite color now.

“Strangely windy right here, though,” he says, too loudly for a conversation between two. “Almost _unnaturally_ windy, like a _Pokemon_ caused it.”

He squints his eyes at the rooftop again, but there isn’t any scuttling or frantic whispers like he thought there would be. Instead, there’s a gruff construction worker and a Conkledurr that block your path.

“Road’s closed.”

“What?” Hop asks. He peers around the construction worker, then his brow furrows as multiple pedestrians meander past him. “No it’s not.”

“Yes it is. Gotta go another way.”

“Those people are going in,” Hop huffs.

“Go to the plaza,” the construction worker grunts “Ain’t no work bein’ done there.”

“There’s no work being done here,” Hop huffs again, but he stops arguing when you pull on his hand.

“Let’s just go that way,” you say. It doesn’t seem this construction worker and this Conkledurr are leaving anytime soon.

Hop glances to your eyes, to your hand curled around his, and he nods, almost in a daze. You pull him along by his hand, though Hop can’t manage to figure out how to hold your hand properly. He wonders how sweaty his hand feels.

You make it to the plaza, and the center fountain bubbles as a stream of water rises into the air. Lanterns frame the plaza, glowing gold and purple, just like the rest of the city. It’s not a festival or anything, why are there lanterns? Where are the rest of the people? The only person here is a guy plucking an acoustic guitar. Well, there’s a flute player too, and they start up once you step close enough. 

“Oh _man_ ,” the guitar player bemoans. “Here we are, playing this _beautiful music_ , and there’s _no one_ here to _dance_ to it.”

“Hark!” the flute player says. “Arceus has blessed us this day, here come two numb nutters now!”

You hear a hiss.

_“Young lovers, not numb nutters, you twit!”_

“Here come two young lovers now!” the flute player corrects.

They immediately start playing again, and you and Hop glance at one another. You step towards him, and he quickly steps back.

“Oh, I-I don’t know how to dance,” Hop stutters.

_“What?! Yes he does, I literally showed him in the lab two days ago!”_

Hop’s brow furrows as a memory flashes - an awkward memory of Sonia forcing him to dance when he was trying to study a lake sample. He sniffed her coffee afterwards, but he couldn’t identify anything pungent.

“Sonia?” Hop says.

 _“Shut up, Sonia!”_ someone who sounds strangely like Leon hisses. “I-I mean, I’m just a Pidove! Coo, coo!”

“Oh, that’s okay,” you say quietly, and Hop’s attention redirects back to you. “We don’t have to.”

“B-but if you want to we can!” he splutters. He steps forward again curves his hand around your waist, and pulls you into his chest. When your eyes widen, he suddenly pushes you away again. “Sorry! Sorry, I-I just, I, um…”

You shake your head to recover, but when Hop reaches for you again, you hear another hiss.

_“It’s too late for that, just go in for the kiss!”_

Hop’s heart thumps, hard and heavy, at the thought. He grabs you again, then quickly loosens his grip.

“Sorry,” he mumbles again. “I-I, um, just thought I heard a Pidove.”

“Me too,” you say quietly. Your hands are braced against his chest from how quickly he pulled you in, but you don’t step back. “Um… you could… if you… if you wanted to.”

“Wanted to what?” Hop asks stupidly.

You hear a groan, then a smack from behind the fountain.

“Well, you know,” you mutter. “What that Pidove said.”

Hop’s eyebrows furrow, then shoot high on his forehead when he processes what you just said.

“You… you want me to…”

“W-we don’t have to!” you quickly splutter. “I-I, um, I-I just thought-”

“No! No, we can, we can,” Hop yelps in return. “I… yeah, yeah we can.”

A nervous anticipation flares between you, deep and intense, pulling and curling your stomach in the best way. There’s a few awkward breaths, shy smiles, Hop leans in, and ever so cautiously, bashfully, almost, he presses a soft kiss against your lips. You can’t help but smile, and he can’t either, when you both slowly pull away.

“I was so nervous to ask you out in the first place,” you say with a bashful smile, and you’re not quite sure why Hop’s eyes widen. “But this was the perfect ending to the perfect date.”

“This was a _date?!”_

You hear three distinct groans from behind the fountain.


	13. I Love You Like a Wailord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combination of two asks on tumblr:  
> 1\. "I’d like to request something for Leon, please! In particular, I’d be interested in seeing what you do with Leon’s s/o playing with his hair while they’re cuddling/kissing and just a general fluffy thing like that. Thank you!"  
> 2\. "Can I please request Leon and some kissing action? Like it's a lazy day at home and so might as well kiss/snog and be in love kinda thing?"

**I Love You Like a Wailord** _(LeonxReader)_

“Love?”

Your head turns to see Leon holding his arms out for you. He’s lounging on the couch, still in his pajama pants and old sweater, watching something on his phone. You smile to yourself, a giddy anticipation rising in your chest, and you ignore your previous quest for a snack in favor of those outstretched arms. You step a little quicker when Leon looks at you and smiles, still groggy from having woken up barely twenty minutes ago. Arceus, he’s so cute. You take your place beside him on the couch and in his arms, he quickly pulls you against him, and he watches you instead of watching whatever it is that was on his phone.

“Have I told you how much I love you yet today?” he asks, and this morning sugary sweetness makes your cheeks tinge pink.

“Not yet,” you hum, and your nose scrunches when he kisses it. 

“I love you a lot,” he says, and he presses a kiss to your lips next. “If my love for you were a Pokemon, it’d be a Gigantimaxed Wailord.”

“Boo, too corny,” you tease, though your grimace is overrun by your smile. Leon kisses you again, and again after that, and you squirm in his arms at how affectionate he’s being.

“I don’t think I’d be able to fit a Wailord into the Battle Tower,” Leon says, as if you’ll easily chat about his work while he continues to press kisses onto your nose, cheeks, forehead, chin. He starts talking about Wailords again, though when you squirm (since that’s the only way you can try to get your heartrate down), he rolls over and traps you beneath him on the couch. He’s mumbling about other water-type Pokemon between each kiss, though every time you try to reply he cuts you off by kissing you again.

“What’s with you?” you finally ask. You wriggle your arm out from under him and press your palm against his forehead to force him to look at you instead of continuously kissing you.

“I love you,” he says simply, as if those were the only three words in the world. He pushes his head against your palm, and you both try to bite back your giggling when Leon continues to pucker his lips like a Luvdisc. “C’mon, I need more kisses.”

“It’s Saturday, we’ve got all day to kiss,” you say, and Leon waggles his eyebrows in a way that you’re sure is supposed to be suggestive, but really it’s just ridiculous as part of his face is squished by your palm. He continues to push his forehead against your palm, and you’re both giggling like children, up until your hand slips and Leon headbutts you right in the nose. You see a quick flash of stars.

“Oh, sorry!” Leon yelps, and you shake your head into focus. You blink a few times, rub the bridge of your nose, and pull Leon back down when he tries to slide off of you.

“I think a kiss will make it better,” you say, and Leon’s panicked eyes shift when he rolls them.

“Boo, too corny,” Leon says, and he presses a delicate kiss to the side of your nose. “Sorry I’ve got a thick skull.”

“Used to it,” you hum, and Leon lets out an incredulous ‘hey!’ in retort. 

You chuckle and run your fingers through the hair by his ear. He easily leans into your touch, and you wrinkle your nose at how sweet his expression is. It’s challenging to keep his gaze, what with how he’s looking at you, so you tug on a few strands of his hair. He grimaces too, though he bumps his head against your hand, as if he too is embarrassed by how much you’re both enjoying this. He presses another gentle kiss to your lips, the corner of your mouth, your cheek, as you card your fingers through his hair.

Leon lets out a long hum at the feeling, his eyes gently closing as you weave through the strands. His kisses have slowed, and they’re longer, warmer, each filled with a tender love you never knew you could have.

“I love you,” you whisper, and his reply is another tender kiss. 

“Can we do this all day?” he asks softly. 

You nod, and Leon tugs the blanket off the back of the couch, tucks it over both of you, and rests his head on your chest. You run your fingers through his hair again, gently toy with a few strands, and Leon lets out a deep sigh you can feel in your own lungs

“I never thought I could be this happy,” he whispers. You playfully tug on another strand, and he nestles closer, pushing his nose into the crook of your neck. “I love you like a Wailord.”

“Boo,” you say again, and you feel Leon’s smile against your skin. 

He presses another delicate kiss, though his eyelashes tickle. He lets out hum when you push his hair off his neck and gently scratch the top of his head.

“You want to watch a movie?” you ask, and Leon lets out a sigh.

“Can we just… can we just stay like this for a bit?” he asks quietly. You hum in approval, since you didn’t really want to get up to turn a movie on anyway.

“Yes,” you whisper, and you press a kiss to the top of his head. “Anything for my thick-skulled Wailord.”


	14. Rubbish You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from Anonymous on tumblr:  
> "another super self Indulgent thing but... something steamy with Piers? It doesn't have to be nsfw!! maybe an after a concert scenario? cuz you know, the adrenaline is usually really high"

**Rubbish You** _(PiersxReader)_

It started out simple enough.

You came to one of his gigs, then talked to him after. That was simple enough.

Then you kept coming. Also simple enough. He was in a band, he had fans, that’s how that was supposed to happen. What wasn’t supposed to happen, however, was how Piers started looking for you. His electric blue gaze would scan the crowd, watching for your smile, watching for your eyes. And, what _definitely_ wasn’t supposed to happen, was for his heart to jump whenever he found you.

Yeah. That _definitely_ wasn’t supposed to happen.

Because then, all he could think about, was you.

You.

You.

_You._

Rubbish _you_ and how you would smile, rubbish _you_ and how your nose would crinkle, rubbish _you_ and how you would lean in to hear him whenever he spoke after a gig because the music and the crowd was still buzzing. Rubbish _you_ and how you’d try to make him laugh, rubbish _you_ when you would succeed, rubbish you you _you._

He hated it.

He hated how you moved to Spikemuth with your Pokemon and your smiles and the way you would look at him. He hated how you came to introduce yourself as a new neighbor, only to freeze when you realized it was him.

He hated that he was writing a song about you, only for you to come waltzing to his door.

It took a lot for him to write songs about people he knew. Normally there was the generic love song, with lyrics that people could kind of relate to, but more importantly, tap their feet to. 

He shoved that song into the drawer and pretended to forget about it.

And then, he kept bumping into you. Spikemuth was a close-knit town, so that was to be expected. What he didn’t expect was how you would look at him with that hungry gaze, how you would brush his arm when you spoke, how you would stand close enough for him to count the colors in your eyes.

He was a singer in a band, a good one at that, so he was used to a hungry gaze.

He wasn’t used to returning it. 

He wasn’t used to finding you, staring at you, trailing his eyes down your body whenever you looked away. He wasn’t used to noticing every dip and every curve and every bit of your legs and hips and shoulders and face.

He wasn’t used to that sweet intoxication that came with craving a kiss.

Rubbish you, doing all of that to him. You didn’t even know it, either. Or did you?

He wasn’t used to this, he wasn’t used to these cravings consuming him from the inside out. He didn’t expect you to have such an intense, lingering effect.

He did expect you to be at his next gig.

There wasn’t anything special about this one - it was in Spikemuth with his regular band and his regular songs - except for one change. That song he shoved in a drawer had been practiced and rehearsed until it was perfect, because he knew you would be there to listen to it. He was up on his stage, with his band, with his audience, and you.

And when he found you, standing right where he expected, he sang the chorus straight to you.

The way you moved, the way you swayed, it was like a melody in itself, pumping through his veins like the beat of the drums behind him. Each lyric was aimed straight at your heart, straight into your ears, as if his sound could be as intoxicating as you.

When he finished, neither of you strayed your gaze.

The audience cheered, clapped around you, hooted and hollered at this new, dynamic, passionate song, but as his band agreed on this impromptu intermission, you and Piers made no sound. You didn’t need to. He gripped your wrist, you intertwined your fingers with his, and he led to the spot where the neon lights flickered, to where the smoke hung in the air, to where he pressed you against the bricks.

Rubbish you, knowing how to kiss him in the way that made his knees buckle.

Rubbish you, nipping his bottom lip in the way that made him moan.

Rubbish you, trailing your fingers over the exact spots that made his breath hitch.

“Who’d you write that song for?” you whispered in his ear. “I think I’ve got a clue.”

“Rubbish.”


	15. A Few Degrees Hotter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asked by Cyndaquilson on tumblr:  
> "steam needs a sequel owo"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: Steam (Chapter 7)
> 
> You don’t need to read part 1 to read this one, but you like, can if you want. I’ll reiterate that this isn’t explicit (& still follows my Rules of no NSFW), but i’ll give it an unofficial T+ rating since the imagery is more vivid than some may be comfortable with. If you don’t like reading about non-explicit suggestive themes/or being the focus of some champion fantasies, don’t read this chapter :)

**A Few Degrees Hotter** _(LeonxReader)_

Why the bloody hell was it _his_ job to tell you that you can’t run around with your rubbish athletic wear that was much too tight in all the ~~right~~ wrong places? Your clothes were too tight in the places that they shouldn’t be too tight for when you were at your _job_ , and _he_ was the bloody Champion, not the secretary at some Galarian prep school.

_‘The image of Wyndon Stadium is reflected by your trainers, Leon,’_ Oleana had said coldly. _‘It is your responsibility to deal with such matters.’_

What was _he_ supposed to do? Slap your ~~ass~~ wrist?

So here is Leon, storming across the pitch, fuming with each stomp at the fact that _he_ is the one who has to tell you that you can’t dress so provocatively for your evening training. You _knew_ what you were doing, he knew you knew, because ever since he stupidly confessed how attracted he was to you in the public showers, you had been eyeing him like he was your favorite type of candy and it had been too long since the last time you tasted sugar.

You’ve been unbearable this entire week. No, you haven’t spoken since Leon’s mortifying shower confession (Leon made sure of that), but it’s the way your gaze latches onto him, the way you unabashedly drink in every inch of him, the way you stare into his eyes like you haven’t eaten in days – it’s all he can think about at night.

Every night.

Every single night ~~he fantasizes about~~ he’s plagued by the memory of your eyes and your lips and your body. And, what he didn’t see in those showers, his imagination ~~eagerly~~ unfortunately fills in.

Every single night.

The tension in him has been building dangerously, unfortunately unresolved no matter how hard he trains, no matter how hard he clenches his fists, and no matter how vehemently he ignores you. Perhaps by the time he finishes stomping towards you, he’ll feel as tension-free as the steam in the showers that night.

You’re waiting for him, and even though you’re facing away (purposefully showcasing one of your greatest assets, and Leon knows you’re doing that on purpose), your head is tilted enough that he _knows_ you know he’s coming. That’s when you stretch, when your shirt lifts a few inches, and frustration spikes in his jaw.

And a little lower than his jaw. 

And the tension within him grows.

“You _know_ that is not uniform regulation,” Leon barks. You turn, sweetly batting your eyes at the fuming Champion before you.

“Pardon?” you ask. “What’s not?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Leon spits. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you say, still gazing up at him with big, innocent eyes. Bullshit, and yet no one knows it but him.

“Cut it out,” he growls dangerously. He is not in the mood to play these games with you, although you have every intention to play and to win.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong with my outfit?” you ask.

Leon glances around to see a few other of your fellow trainers snickering, raising their eyebrows, and one even has the gall to _wink_.

“You all want to stay late tonight?” he barks at them. “Since I don’t think it’s in your contract that we pay you to stand around.”

The handful of chuckling trainers dissipate, and Leon realizes that your unfortunate shower run-in was not kept secret between the two of you.

“You can’t wear that,” Leon says again. “It’s too… you’re too… you can’t wear it.”

“Fine,” you say in return, and you start to peel off your shirt. Leon quickly lunges at you to catch your hands before you lift them any higher, and you offer him a smile. His fingers tremble against your hips, and memories of his fantasy from a few nights ago flashes in his mind.

Just the two of you.

Alone on the pitch.

He would peel your shirt off for you, press his thumbs into your hips.

Leon’s hands unconsciously squeeze a little tighter.

He’d straddle you, let his hair drape over your bare skin, let the strands tickle the most sensitive parts of you.

Even with the stadium lights glinting and the empty stadium watching, you would beg him to-

Leon yanks his hands off of you and jolts backwards.

You grin, he scowls, and quickly reaffirms that showering next to your stall that night was the ~~best~~ worst thing that’s happened to him recently.

“Wear something appropriate tomorrow,” he growls, unable to meet your eye. He quickly turns, hoping that you didn’t catch the blush that’s creeping into his cheeks. How do you have this effect on him? _Why_ do you have this effect on him? You haven’t spoken in days, and yet a brief conversation with you has him reeling.

Despite your teasing, he ignores you for the rest of training, and it isn’t until he’s packing up his things that you approach him again.

“I’m off to shower, if you’d like to join me,” you say.

Your voice isn’t teasing, but rather low and meaningful. When Leon meets your gaze, something dangerous flares deep in his stomach. Everything in his mind is screaming _not appropriate not appropriate not appropriate_ but everything else in him is craving you you _you._

He waits for you to leave.

He waits for everyone to leave.

Then he gathers his things and lets his body move past the rationale of his mind in favor of you in the public Wyndon showers.

You.

Wet.

Dripping.

Panting.

His fantasies from each and every night this week are swirling in his mind, fogging his senses, beating his heart harder and his pulse faster with each step towards the showers.

He ~~hates~~ loves it.

He loves how you’re genuinely surprised when he comes in, how you’re wet, dripping, panting from the steam of your shower, how your towel is loosely wrapped around you. You motion to make some sly comment, only for your breath to catch when Leon pushes you against the lockers and his fist slams beside your head, rattling both the doors behind you and the air around you.

“I’m sick of your attitude,” he growls, low and gravely. “I’m sick of what you do to me.”

You take a moment to process, to pause, and your smile returns.

“What’re you going to do about it?” you risk, coy as ever. “Didn’t think the Champion was so timid.”

Leon’s fists clench beside your head and he leans in, just as you were hoping he might. His golden eyes are murky, his chest rising and falling with each breath. You’re sticking to the lockers behind you from the steam that’s wafting in the room. It’s like an adhesive in your lungs, thick and warm.

“Are you calling me a coward?”

“Not outright,” you hum.

You risk it. You reach out that inch, delicately press the tips of your fingers against Leon’s stomach. He’s firm, or perhaps he’s just tense, and your eyes flick back up just in time to see Leon clench his jaw. Your gaze trails down his jaw, to the line of his throat, the sharp crease of his collarbone, his chest, down his stomach, then even lower. It’s as if your gaze is a magnet, and each inch lower your eyes travel, an inch closer Leon leans. He’s pressing you against the lockers until he’s the only thing in your line of vision.

“And if I think you’re wrong?” Leon whispers in return. His voice rumbles through you, low and dangerous.

Your eyes flick to his, dark and lidded.

“Prove it.”

You had every intention to be in control of this situation, but the second those dangerous words slide from your lips, something in the air shifts.

Another clang reverberates through the room when Leon pushes his knee between yours, then up between your thighs, and you let out a squeak of surprise. He’s gripping your hands, slamming them beside your head, intertwining your fingers together. His body pressing against yours is the only thing keeping your towel up. You only have half a second to process those things, because Leon is suddenly pressing his lips against yours, hot and desperate, frustrated and hungry, all at the same time.

Your cockiness is overrun by shock at how Leon quickly takes control of the situation, and you wonder for a split second if he was guiding it the entire time. Your distraction takes precedent when he kisses you deeply, sliding his tongue across your lips, pushing it between them and into your mouth. You let out a ragged breath, a soft moan slips, and Leon pushes his hips against yours.

You gasp at the sudden pressure, and again when Leon snaps his hips against yours again. The lockers rattle and shake at the force, as do you.

“Shit, Leon,” you manage out, but his lips are slamming against yours. He doesn’t grind on you again, and instead focuses on your lips and your tongue. Either he’s done this before or he’s imagined doing this before at least a thousand times, because each kiss and each movement is tinged with a desperate heat you didn’t think possible.

He kisses you and he kisses you and he kisses you, deep and intense and much too hot. You’re trembling and quaking beneath him and the tension that’s coursing from him to you, barely relieved even though you’ve both wanted this for so long. There’s lips and teeth and tongue and heat again and again and again, and longer you kiss, the greater the tension grows. He’s pulling an embarrassing amount of moans and gasps from you, as if he knows exactly where to touch to make it happen.

“Does your offer still stand?” he whispers against your skin. You’re both already breathing hard from the mix of the heat of the room and the adrenaline between you.

“What offer,” you breathe in return, unable to process anything other than how Leon is desperately trying to kiss and nip and suck every inch of your skin. He leans up, and his breath is hot on your ear.

“I know that shower is your favorite,” he breathes. “But mine private one is fixed. You should come see for yourself. I guarantee you’ll like it more than this one.”

He nips your earlobe, your neck, your shoulder, and it takes you a few breaths before you can respond. His teeth leave indents in your skin like a hot and desperate branding iron, and he seems intent to litter you with as many as possible. You guide his hands under the hem of your towel and you lean your head against the lockers behind you when he takes the time to explore wherever he wants. His hands are rough, warm, and much too slow compared to what you were hoping. You try to quicken their pace and Leon’s chuckle slips out between his kisses.

“Eager, are we?” he barely whispers into your skin.

It’s your turn to blush, not something you were planning to do tonight.

“What made it obvious,” you mumble. “I was ready to strip on the pitch for you.”

“How about we do that in my private shower,” he suggests.

“I’ve already showered,” you say stupidly, and Leon kisses you again anyway.

“I haven’t,” he says against your lips. “You can help me get all the spots I can’t reach.”

You quickly nod, rush to grab your things, and Leon leads you by the hand to his personal shower. The spots you helped him reach – you had a feeling he could have gotten them himself, but you didn’t mind offering him a helping hand.


	16. Easy as Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from @levcore on tumblr:  
> "H,, okay so after reading Dappled Grove and the chapters with Milo, I am, as they say, weak. So may I request some fluff of a flustered Milo working up the courage to give flowers that he grew himself to reader? Bonus points for reader who has never gotten flowers from anyone before and head over heels Milo/adorable flower language stuff. If possible I'd love a gender-neutral/slightly masc leaning reader, but really, just have fun with it - and thank you for doing god's work with this blog 😔🙏"

**Easy as Pie** _(MiloxReader)_

“Hoo, boy,” Milo mutters as he stares at your front door, bouquet in hand. “What on earth am I doing.”

He rocks back on the heel of his boots, then scuffs it into the dirt path leading up to your porch. He’s been planning this exact moment for months now, ever since he planted these flowers, and yet he can’t seem to get his rubbish feet to move. Although he cut these flowers this morning, he himself is unfortunately rooted in this spot, and has been for about ten minutes.

“Just go up, and knock on the door,” Milo whispers to himself. “Hand off the flowers, say thanks for being great, then head home. Easy as pie.”

Even with that simple five-step plan, if this plan actually was a pie, it would taste like garbage and like the sweat that is beading on his brow. Milo urges his legs to move, his knee twitches, but that’s about it. He exhales in defeat.

What if it’s weird? What if you think he’s strange for coming to visit out of the blue? Not even that, but getting flowers? From _him?_ He knows you know he grows flowers, he runs the best flower shop in Turffield, but this will be the first time he’s deliberately grown and picked and arranged something for you.

Successfully, at least.

Every other attempt has been futile, and this spot on your front pathway is the farthest he’s ever gotten.

“You don’t even have to ask for a date,” Milo whispers to himself, though the word ‘date’ immediately ignites the anxiety in his chest. “Just offer the flowers, nice and platonically.”

He hopes you don’t know much about the language of flowers, because every bit of this bouquet screams ‘definitely not platonic.’ He doesn’t have any more time to build up the courage, because suddenly your front door opens, and out comes you. Milo lets out the breath he was holding, unable to hold back his smile when he sees you.

“Hey Milo,” you say. “You alright?”

“Huh? Oh, me?” Milo repeats dumbly. “Yeah, yeah I’m great.”

“You sure?” you ask. “You’ve been standing there for about ten minutes.”

Milo’s eyes widen. He’s been standing and talking to himself on your front pathway for ten minutes and you _knew_.

“I, uh,” he stutters. Milo doesn’t lie often, so he doesn’t think of anything particularly clever particularly quickly, but he needs to save face and make this less terrible than it already is. “Flowers grow better if you talk to ‘em.”

You blink, purse your lips, then nod.

“That’s interesting,” you say, and Milo immediately groans.

“I’m sorry, that’s not why. I was trying to build up the courage to come knock.”

You smile again and your eyebrows pull together, such a cute expression for such a cute person, but Milo needs to focus on what you’re saying so he doesn’t risk looking like a fool again.

“Why would that make you nervous?” you ask. “You come over all the time?”

“I know,” Milo says as he scuffs at the ground again. “But I’ve got something for you.”

Your eyes flit to the bouquet in his hands and you raise your eyebrows again. He finally takes the last few steps to meet you on your front porch and he hands you the bouquet.

“These are for me?” you ask.

“I, um, I grew them myself,” Milo admits bashfully. He bites back the disclaimers and rushed rationales he wants to make, and he risks looking foolish when he forces himself to be honest with you. “You’re… you’re a really special person. To me. A-and in general, so I wanted to say thanks.”

You’re blushing just as much as he is, and Milo wonders if you’re feeling that pull in your gut too. You breathe out a smile, one that’s soft and sweet, one that Milo has never seen on you before. He can’t help but smile too because of it.

“I’ve never gotten flowers before,” you say quietly. “This is… this is really nice, thank you Milo.”

“Would you like more?” he quickly asks, and the words are out before he can stop them. You raise your eyebrows, but Milo shuts his trap before anything else embarrassing slips out.

“Oh, I don’t want to burden you with that,” you say breathily, and when your smile grows, so does that pull in Milo’s stomach. “This has really made my day, week, maybe even my month, getting something so sweet from you.”

“It’s no trouble, really,” Milo says, and he waves a hand at you. “Here, I’ll go get some. What’s your favorite flower?”

You answer before you can think, and the second you finish your sentence, Milo turns and marches down your front path with renewed purpose.

“Milo, you really don’t have to!” you call, and he waves a hand at you again.

“No, no it’s nothing, I promise!” he calls in return. “I’ll be back soon!”

And off goes Milo, trying not to sprint back to his flower shop, and you lean against your doorjamb and delicately smell the aroma of the bouquet. The blush on your cheeks is warm, and you hide it by pulling the flowers up to your face. It doesn’t seem Milo will turn around, as he’s strangely determined to get you more flowers. He’s too sweet sometimes.

You gaze at the bouquet again. It is quite beautiful… and quite special. Aren’t flowers supposed to mean something? You wonder if that’s the case, or if Milo was just kindly offering you some leftover stock from his shop. You take a seat on your front steps and pull out your phone to do some research.

Let’s see, you can pick out the daisies at least. Apparently, those mean new beginnings. You’re not really beginning anything new, so your hypothesis of these just being leftover stock solidifies itself in your brain. There are some tulips, too. You type ‘tulip meaning’ into the search engine, and your eyebrows shoot high on your forehead.

True love…?

And hope! Phew, and hope. You read that second meaning and puff out the breath of air you were holding. Hope is good. Hope is great, actually, let’s go with the hope meaning for these tulips.

You’re not sure what the blue ones are, so after a bit of searching, you can pick out that they’re forget-me-nots, and they mean…

True love.

M…Maybe they have a second meaning like the tulips. Your eyes frantically scan your screen and you bite your lip when you find alternate meanings.

Deep compassion.

Okay… that’s…. better. Kind of. You and Milo are friends, pals, chums, and you certainly have some compassion for your chums. Milo has compassion for everything – people, Pokémon, nature, everything, and that’s one of the many qualities of his that you admire. That’s probably all that means, then. You gloss over forget-me-nots third meaning of ‘fidelity.’

And finally, this white speckly stuff. Looks like… garnish? Snowflakes? Ah, baby’s breath, that’s a strange name for a flower.

Unconditional love.

There’s a bit of a theme here, isn’t there.

You frantically search for other possible meanings for baby’s breath flowers, but that’s the only meaning that comes up.

Love.

Your face warms at the thought, at that single word repeating in your head _love love love_ , and as if on cue, Milo is heading back up your front path, another bouquet in hand. You’re suddenly much more aware of his smile and his eyes and his hands and his arms and his chest and everything about him as he steps up to your porch.

“Sorry for the wait,” he says with a kind smile. You nod and your eyes shift to the ground. “I got you a couple more, I hope you don’t mind.”

He hands you a single Lily of the Valley (to put in your window, apparently), a few sunflowers for your kitchen table, and finally twelve red roses. You can barely hold all these flowers, and when you almost drop them, Milo quickly catches them, catches you, and his hands are clasped around yours. Your gazes meet, bashful and searching and a second too long.

“What do red roses mean,” you ask suddenly, and Milo’s eyes widen.

“P-pardon?”

“Flowers have meaning, don’t they?” you ask before you can stop yourself. “Almost all of the ones in your first bouquet meant love. What do red roses mean?”

Milo’s eyes flick around your face, and he desperately tries to gauge your expression. A bit of red tints your cheeks – it’s the perfect color in Milo’s mind – and he breathes out a sigh.

“Love.”

You stare into each other’s eyes for another moment, and another moment more.

“They all mean love,” Milo finishes weakly, and he finally lets go of your hands. “I didn’t mean to be so forward, and I promise I won’t bother you any-”

“Milo,” you interrupt. “This is probably the most subtle thing you could have done. If you wanted to be forward, you’d just straight up kiss me.”

Immediately Milo’s cheeks flare red and he nearly falls off your porch.

“No! Heavens, I-I won’t-“

“I know!” you say as you cut him off again. “I know, you won’t, or I mean… we won’t… u-um…”

You’re both fumbling and awkward and this is not going nearly as smoothly as Milo had hoped, but something in his chest warms when you gently take his hand again.

“But, if you want to get dinner sometime, I think that’d be nice,” you say. “Sort of like a…. date situation, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Milo says, and he nods vigorously. “Yeah, yeah that sounds nice. A date. With me. And you.”

“Yeah,” you repeat, and you’re both flaring as red as these roses. “How about Friday? You can come pick me up?”

Milo nods again, and his smile is spreading too quick to stop. He tries to hide it, but the corners of his mouth continuously perk back up.

“No more flowers though,” you say sternly as you try to adjust the masses in your arms. “I don’t think I have enough vases for any more.”

“I’ll bring you some vases then,” Milo says. “I’ll see you Friday?”

“See you Friday,” you say.

You both share another few-seconds gaze, both break out into embarrassed smiles, and Milo finally heads back down your porch with a renewed spring in his step. What flowers should he bring you next time? What kind of vase would you like? Perhaps he could bake you a pie.

Yep, his five-step plan was just that: easy as pie.


	17. Crack of Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from anyonymous on tumblr:  
> "Maybe something where reader and Leon end up getting into an argument but reader accidentally confesses her love to him in the middle of the argument and Leon is absolutely dumbfounded but it ends cute and tender? 🖤🥺"

**Crack of Thunder** _(LeonxReader)_

Thunder cracks, loud and skull-splitting, and the force of the sound seems to drive the rain harder into the pavement. There’s no time to marvel at the power of nature, nor at the sound of the puddles as your feet splash through them. You have one goal, and it’s that hazy plume of purple hair storming away from you.

“ _Leon!”_ you call again. It could be that your voice is drowned out by the rain, but you’re certain that isn’t the reason he’s not turning around.

His strides are longer, but yours are quicker as you throw etiquette to the wind and run. Your feet slap against the cobblestone pavement, spewing new waves of dirty water up onto your ankles. It doesn’t effect you, as every inch of you is already soaking.

“Leon!” you yell over another crack of thunder. He doesn’t turn, but you didn’t expect him to. Either he’s walking faster, or the rain is distorting your depth-perception. You mumble a choice expletive under your breath and break into a sprint.

There are no other pedestrians walking the streets of Wyndon, as this thunderstorm of the century has been warned about on every news outlet this entire week. That doesn’t matter though, not when the risk of losing your best friend is looming more ominously than the pregnant storm clouds above your head. You finally catch up to Leon, and although you barely brush his sleeve, the contact is like atoms colliding with atoms and your skin pricks as if lightning is about to strike.

“What?!” he snaps, and the sound jolts you just as the next crack of thunder does.

“Leon, listen to me,” you plead, gripping onto his sleeves. His tailcoat is soaked through, the burgundy of it as dark as blood. “Please let me explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Leon spits. “You said everything you needed to.”

He jerks his arm back, but your fingernails clutch into the cloth. You’ll risk tearing the seam, you’ll risk digging into his skin, if that’s the only way he’ll listen.

“All I meant was that if all you do is work,” you say in exasperation. “You’ll risk losing the people closest to you!”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Leon spits. “And the time after that, and the time after that, and the time after that.”

“At least I’m telling you!” you say in return. You wish you didn’t have to raise your voice and add to the chaos around you, but the howling of the wind requires that you yell in order to be heard. “At least I care about you enough to warn you!”

“I’ve been doing fine on my own,” Leon says, and he rips your fingers from his sleeve. “I don’t need you meddling in my life!”

“What about Raihan?” you ask, and you grip his wrist when he tries to turn again. “What about your mum? What about Hop? Ever since you lost the Championship you’ve been avoiding everyone!”

“And everyone is respecting me enough to leave me alone when I ask,” Leon says. He shoves your hand off again, but he’s finally turned towards you. Dark strands of hair are plastered across his face, but his eyes are as hot and blazing as golden fire. “Why are _you_ so persistent?”

“Because I care about you,” you say, and you step closer so he can hear you over the rain. “Arceus, Leon, you’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you. You keep running away from everyone, but I know you need support too.”

“Rubbish,” Leon spits, but he’s still not turning away. “You just feel sorry for me. First, you wanted my fame, then when I didn’t have it, you are still for some reason chasing after me. I don’t have anything to offer you.”

You tear your hands through your hair in exasperation and whip off the rain from your fingers. Thunder cracks again, sharp and hot white and barely a mile away. The rain is still driving into the pavement, driving into your skin, as you stare at Leon in desperation.

“I don’t want anything from you! I’m doing this and telling these things _for_ you, Leon!” you huff. “I want to help, I want to be with you throughout this transition!”

Another crack of thunder, another flash of lighting. It shocks everything white, breaks the contrast around you like an overexposed photo. Even with the ethereal light for what wasn’t even a second, Leon is still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Why?” Leon asks. “Why? Why am I so important to you?”

Your hands are shaking in panic, desperation, fear, cold, at the risk of losing the man standing before you.

“I already said!” you yell. “You’re my best mate and I care about you!”

“Is that really all it is?” Leon asks.

“Yes!” you yell in return. “Why wouldn’t I want the best for you? Why wouldn’t I want you to have good relationships with your friends and your family? Why would I want you to work yourself to the bone?”

His brow is furrowed, his head backlit as another bolt of lightning flashes.

“You work and you work and you work, Leon, you always have! I can’t let the man I love just wither away and lose everyone close to him. You finally have a chance to start over and I don’t want you to make the same mistakes you have in the past!”

There isn’t another crack of thunder, there’s no sudden howling of the wind, but for some reason, something in Leon’s eyes shift. It’s like they break, crack, melt into something soft even with the harsh rain splattering around you. And, even over the chaos and whirling of the storm, you somehow catch the words he breathes next.

“You’re… you’re in love with me?”

Your heart stops.

Your breathing stops.

Everything around you stops for a single second. That single second feels like an eternity as you realize what you just confessed. You open your mouth, close it, but as the storm tears the earth raw, your heart is now beating heavy on the pavement.

“I… I didn’t mean to say that,” you stutter. It’s Leon’s turn to reach towards you, and he grips your wrist when you back away.

“But you are?” he asks. “You’re in love with me?”

Your eyes scan his face, then your voice cracks like the thunder.

“Yes.”

The rain splutters against the pavement, thunder rumbles around you, and the tears well hot in your eyes.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m in love with you, Leon.”

The chaos of the storm is nothing compared to the pounding thump of your heart as Leon’s hand grips tighter around your wrist. He’s calculating it seems, though it’s much too slowly compared to how quickly the rain drives into the ground, how it pricks into your skin.

“I-I’m sorry,” you manage out as the tears steam down your face. “I shouldn’t have sai-”

As quickly as the next bolt of lightning strikes, Leon closes the space between you. You cling to him in shock as he leans in, cups your face, and captures your lips in a kiss. It’s wet and it’s quick, much like the rain around you, and Leon pulls back only a moment later.

“I love you too,” Leon says.

Your response is interrupted by another wet kiss as the storm rumbles around you. It seems your argument has melted and dribbled into the cracks between the cobblestone, because Leon is no longer running from you, but rather holding you as close as he can. You are clutching at his sleeves again, though.

“You’re not mad anymore?” you manage out between kisses. Leon barely shakes his head, too preoccupied by your lips.

“You’re the only one who cares enough to chase me down in a thunderstorm,” Leon says. He breathes out a chuckle, warm against your lips.

“Maybe we should find some shelter,” you say. Leon kisses you again.

“I think it’s letting up,” he whispers against your lips, but the next crack of thunder quickly proves otherwise.

Suddenly the thunderstorm doesn’t seem so dark and daunting. It’s chaotic, yes, but the rain and the rumbling sounds a little more melodic than it did before. You wonder if it’s because Leon seems to determined to walk beside you, your hand warm and secure in his.


End file.
